A Tale of Sand and Sun
by Inkstainedgwyn
Summary: NWN2: OC/MotB. Sand/OC pairing - the story from the point of view of a very sarcastic moon elf and a rather wry sun elf. Mild AU for a few char/situational tweaks. T for language. Humour/romance/action/drama. Ch. 10: A Paladin's Past.
1. A Chance Meeting

_Hello! For those of you just stumbling on this, I've loved Sand for a long time and have finally been inspired to write a Sand romance that will likely be a bit silly, a bit dramatic, sappy in places, and hopefully quite funny. I know that NWN2 is an older game, so not as many people may find this, but for those of you who do, welcome, and thank you for reading._

_If you followed me here after reading my Dragon Age 2 story,_ Why Can't I Meet a Sane Mage_, first of all, thank you! Secondly, I think you'll like this, too. It's much of the same, with a new crew. Yes, I do have a thing for elven mages 3. Sand isn't nearly as kind and cuddly as Orsino, but he's a delightful mix of a fair helping of Varric's ego and humour, a soupçcon of Isabella's biting sarcasm, and a liberal seasoning of Fenris' dry wit. I'm not sure I'll do him justice, but I will certainly try. Don't worry if you don't know the story, I'll fill in more, probably, than I did in _A Sane Mage_. As for the setting, it's basic D&D fantasy ~ nothing too alien._

_As always, I very much welcome any and all feedback ~ I can't learn if I don't get critique, and it's always nice to know if people like it._

_Without further ado, I hope you enjoy _A Tale of Sand and Sun_._

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><p><em>Ch. 1 - A Chance Meeting - introducing our Hero and Heroine - of a sort.<em>

"Hmm. Wolfsbane – check. Beetle glands – check. Fire oil – check. Athelas – check. Cat – no, wait a minute-" Sand stopped, glaring at his familiar, who hopped out of the box of supplies and wandered off to the edge of the counter in the wizard's small shop. Spotted tail waving, Jaral sniffed the corner, rubbing his face against it with his nose in the air as if it had been his only goal all along.

The elf sighed, shook his head, and went back to cataloguing his newest shipment of supplies. He'd just pulled the stack of tempered glass vials out of their protective casings when a rough packet of dried herbs fell away from the side of the box.

"Well, well – what do we have here?" He picked up the packet with a satisfied look. "They said they were behind in stock, but it looks like they _did_ have some. I'll be able to make some more of that ale purgative after all." He stood, ignoring his protesting knee; he was an elf, yes, but after two-and-a-half centuries his knee _would_ act up on occasion – such as when he'd hit it on the stair railing that morning trying to avoid Jaral as the cat wound around his ankles.

Going to his ledger, he made a note to provide the requisite payment for the herbs next time he sent an order in – he hadn't requested them this time, after all – and set the packet aside. _Work first, play later_. The only place he enjoyed spending time more than his alchemy lab was his library, and that was likely because he could take the books to bed. Beakers of hydrochloric acid didn't mix well with his sheets.

The next hour saw his shipment settled and after balancing the books, the dark-haired elf sat the quill down with a happy sigh and picked up the carton of vials and the packet of herbs. Moving Jaral out of the way purposefully with a booted toe, he carried his prizes to the back room where his lab was located. The small adjustable flame was no sooner lit than Sand found himself blissfully lost in his work. It was late morning, so he was unlikely to have business for several hours; the dockworkers came by early, the corner ladies wouldn't be by until evening, and he'd hopefully have the purgative finished by the afternoon, when those who were likely to need it would be finally waking up from their drunken stupors.

An hour passed, then two, and by the time he was finished there were several rows of neatly labelled, filled vials on the windowsill, all glowing a faint blue-green or violet in the noon sun as it shone in through the open back door – Sand might not be a 'nature' person but he enjoyed fresh air, especially in the autumn. He surveyed his morning's work with satisfaction and went to the small sink to wash off his hands.

Touching the tap – which drew water from the pump outside – he chuckled again at how many people thought his shop 'small' or 'quaint' and wondered why he hadn't set up in the Merchant's District. It was true that at one time he'd had a store there, and it was true that his relocation to the docks hadn't been completely his own choice – _damn that Nevalle._ It was, however, very unlikely that he'd be able to recreate the hidden luxuries he now had back in the bustle of the marketplace. And Sand was _very_ fond of his luxuries.

He dusted off his immaculately-clean robes – Sand was very particular about cleanliness, yet another reason why he was willing to trade 'location' for 'creature comforts'. Plus, he couldn't complain _too_ badly (even though he did anyway) – the docks _were_ very good for business. Not that the higher-and-middle-class districts didn't see their share of overindulgence, illicit affairs, and simpering duels – all of which called for potions or magical spells of one sort or another – but the docks had knife-fights, drinking, whoring, and drugging to an even greater extent. Not that Sand approved – no, he was actually very terse whenever he found out that one of his clients _was_ doing something illegal, and would generally put a bug in their ear about it; unfortunately, Sand's wit was lost on the lower classes, and most of them just shrugged and went back to their daily routine. _Still, __a life without business is no life at all_. Jaral, who'd been helping him make potions, chirrupped in agreement at this thought and jumped off the counter to wind around the moon-elf's legs.

"Indeed," he said, dryly. "All this thought of overindulgence reminds me – I might as well take another week's worth of ale purgative to Duncan. He _is_ the one who got panicked when I told him I might not get a shipment in for several weeks or more." He shook his head. "How he manages to stay an innkeeper with what little tolerance for alcohol he has, I haven't the slightest."

* * *

><p>He heard his name before his eyes had even adjusted to the dusty gloom in the tavern – Sand had never seen a tavern that had good, clear windows or lighting, but he supposed that was just for better business. No one would eat off those tables if they saw them in daylight.<p>

"He's a sharp-eared viper, with a wit to match – but he generally knows his stuff. He might be able to tell you more about that shard, but don't pay him until _after_ you've gotten your information. In fact-" Sand stepped up, clearing his throat before Duncan could continue to further ravage his character with imaginary slights.

"Duncan, you wouldn't even last two days without my ale purgative and who is it that keeps this place warded against fire and lightning?" He sighed. "But fancy, I heard my name mentioned and in a voice that _almost_ suggested that I could help in some way."

The half-elven innkeeper shot a look at the person with whom he'd been speaking, and for the first time Sand turned to look at them – at her. He blinked, as she was _not_ whom he'd expected Duncan to be giving any kind of advice to, especially not magical. An elf herself – at least, she appeared to be a sun elf, although there was something about her that Sand couldn't place – she stood shorter than even he, which was a surprise in and of itself. She was dressed in green robes and smelled like magic, but he couldn't determine just what her specialities were. Blonde hair pinned up, pale skin – _odd, sun elves are usually quite tan_ – but the oddest thing about her was the tinted spectacles she wore. They were almost like ones he'd seen blind scholars wear, but were not nearly as dark – just enough to obscure the eyes. _That must make being in this tavern difficult._ _It's as dim as its owner._ Still, she was odd, but no odder than half of the other citizens of Neverwinter. Everyone had their secrets – even Sand. _Especially Sand_. He smirked to himself.

Just then, Duncan gestured at her. "This here's kin-"

"I don't _really_ see the resemblance," Sand murmured.

Duncan just gave him a look. "-and I'd be obliged if you could help her out with some questions she has. But don't you dare try to cheat her! I've told her _all_ about you."

Sand pursed his lips. "Mmm, I'm _sure_." He resented Duncan's constant implications that he was a cheat – he _wasn't_, his prices were actually quite fair, but as with most common folk, the innkeeper didn't understand that magic _wasn't_ instant, wasn't infallible, and wasn't always going to give people the answers they wanted. Magic _couldn't_ do everything, no matter what people wanted to believe.

However, his palms had been tingling ever since Duncan had said the elf was kin. Kin – so she might be staying locally - _and_ an arcanist of some sort – she wasn't a cleric, as she didn't smell like sanctified dust, and she wasn't a druid, as she didn't smell of tree sap. That meant she'd be using his store for things _other_ than his two-copper potions and salves. He wasn't expecting stellar magical discussion – very few people could understand the sorts of erudite conversation that Sand enjoyed, after all – but at least he'd be selling magical supplies and not just glorified bandages and timesavers.

He turned to her with a smile and a bow. "Please ignore Duncan, who hasn't a magical bone in his body." _Mystra, but those glasses make her difficult to read. I wonder why she wears them, anyhow?_ She followed conversation well enough, looking from person to person, and when Duncan gestured he'd seen her gaze briefly in the direction of his hand, as anyone in such a conversation would subconsciously do. _She's not blind, but perhaps she has weak vision. It would explain things, although a mage with weak vision is _asking _for trouble._ Meanwhile, she'd taken a silk-wrapped bundle out of her pocket and was holding it as if it was very dear to her, and found himself more and more intrigued.

She chuckled at his sally against Duncan. "My uncle is merely being protective and I thank him for the concern," she said quietly, in a voice that was rather mellifluous – but she _was_ an elf, so it really didn't surprise him. Musical voices, perfect hair, gorgeous skin, incredible lifespans – no wonder the other races envied them. _She might be a bard, but I don't know many bards who wear robes. They tend to prefer awful garish costumes or leathers._

She continued. "I have a silver shard here that I need information on, and my uncle said you might help-?"

_Sweet Mystra, not_ this _again._ Sand shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mistress-" he paused, a questioning tone.

"My apologies. My name is Gwyndeth."

He nodded. "Gwyndeth, then. I told your uncle when he first brought it to me that the only magic I could sense seemed to be incidental. Anyhow, it's likely useless without the other shard he mentioned, and-"

Gwyndeth held out the silk-wrapped bundle – he now realized that the silk was due to practicality, not sentimentality – and displayed two shards, together only as wide as her palm. She looked puzzled. "I have them both. But why do you say there is no magic? I can sense it, but I cannot place it. It seems rather strong to me."

He blinked at her, beginning to feel a bit affronted. _How can she tell me my business if she doesn't even know what she's talking about? Strong indeed. Fine, whatever. They'll get another divination, and if they try to complain that it's not what they want, then I'll just leave._ Happy visions of a magically-inclined customer were rapidly fading away, and he sighed.

"All right. Perhaps the years have revealed what my scrying could not; I will try again." Nodding to indicate that she should keep her hand out - palm-up with the shards protected by silk - he held his own over hers and began a quick scrying cantrip. He noticed a flicker of concern cross her face, and for some reason it annoyed him further – _he_ knew his own limits, and she could leave well enough alone.

When the three of them – Duncan had been standing near enough to get caught in the knockback, as well – began to pick themselves up off the floor several minutes later, Sand's ego was no longer feeling quite so superior. He even looked a bit chagrined. "Well, now. There _is_ more magic there – certainly – and it seems to have a peculiar resentment against being scryed." He rubbed the back of his head, and extended a hand to assist Gwyndeth to stand.

Meanwhile, Duncan looked incensed. "Oh _no_ you don't, you charlatan! I'm not paying you for _two_ failed divinations!"

Sand rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Gwyndeth turned to him and completely won his undying gratitude by _not_ saying 'I told you so', or even _looking_ it. She just gave him a thoughtful, level gaze, and slowly said, "Well, why would that be? From all I know, any kinds of wards that produce that sort of kickback don't just… go to sleep and wake back up again. Not unless they're sentient, and these _really_ don't seem self-aware." She held up the shards, more gingerly this time.

He looked at her with new found respect. "Well, I can certainly see where all the brains in your family went, my dear." He deliberately did _not_ look at Duncan, and was gratified to see her smirk, ever so slightly. "And I will be honest with you, and say _I don't know_. I can think of situations in which this might occur, but they're _so _specific that I would need to know a great deal more of the shards' history." He looked to Duncan, then back again to her. "Do you know anything else?" When they shook their heads, he sighed, frustrated. "Well, what about that uncle or brother or cousin or whatever – the one who had the other shard?"

Gwyndeth looked ill at ease at the reference, but shook her head. "Daeghun might be closed-mouthed, but I trust that my father has told me all he knows, and it's nothing more than we already had." Sand found this intriguing. _Her father, yet she calls him by name and seems uncomfortable if he's mentioned. Oh ho, I sense a story here_. He filed it away for later as she continued, sighing. "We know they're from the battle with the King of Shadows, but nothing more. Who would know about that war?"

"For that, you'd want Aldanon, the sage. Unfortunately he lives in Blacklake, so…" he trailed off as Duncan nodded.

"Bad bit of business, that. Heard about it last week. Is it true they had the Cloaktower mages in?"

Sand nodded, then turned to Gwyndeth, who'd been looking at them both in confusion. "The Blacklake district has been closed for a week or more now due to some rather… inconvenient… murders in the area, and they're not letting anyone in. The presence of the Cloaktower suggests that mages or demons had something to do with it. So, sadly, you won't be learning anything about these shards, so really your best bet is to leave them with me and let me study them at my leisure, and-"

Gwyndeth wrapped the shards back up with alacrity, putting them back into her robes before Sand could take them. "And how might I get _into_ Blacklake?"

He blinked at her. Apparently, the shards were of more import to her than he'd guessed. "Well unless you're part of the Watch, you won't be." He paused, considering her, and decided that she wasn't the type who'd be interested in the shadier routes, for which he was glad. There was enough lawlessness in the docks, and it was something he was entirely unhappy about. Even the Watch had its tiers of corruption, though in truth, they did what they could.

Meanwhile, Duncan looked thoughtful. "The Watch – now, that's not a bad idea. Marshal Cormick heads it in this district, and it'd give you an in to the city as well as put some change in your pockets."

Gwyndeth brightened at the name. "Cormick, from Fort Locke? From West Harbour? I met him on the way here. As long as he doesn't mind that I'm a mage, I'd be glad to work with him. It's good to see another Harbourman around."

_Not a bard, then_. Sand shrugged. "Well, then, it seems you have a course of action. I'll be returning to my shop, then, and if you need anything, I have a full stock of magical and alchemical reagents. And you're also not likely to find anyone else who can string two sensible sentences together around here, so come by if you need more advice." He turned, but then remembered the purgative. "Oh, that reminds me." He tossed the bottle – holding a week's worth, any more would go bad – to Duncan. "Consider it repayment for the _failed diviniation_." He nodded again to Gwyndeth, turned, and left.

* * *

><p>Halfway home, still thinking on the myriad of puzzles that Duncan's niece and her shards presented, he realized that his ankles were remarkably open; usually Jaral would be doing everything he could to trip him in his absent-mindedness. He looked down – nothing. Turning around, he glanced up the path back to the inn – no Jaral. Feeling a bit concerned, he whistled lightly, and then sent out a mental poke – he hadn't <em>sensed<em> anything, so it wasn't like the animal was in trouble, but-

Just then a whirlwind nearly bowled him over and when he finally got his hand on his familiar's collar, he pulled Jaral out of the fray to find another cat – smaller than Jaral, white with a lopsided black splotch on her face, and striking green eyes – howling up at him. She seemed for all the world to be saying "Give him _back_ I wasn't finished teaching him a lesson!" He looked at Jaral, who hung his head.

"All right, what have you been _doing_?" Jaral looked away. He sighed, placed the cat on his shoulder, and then leaned down to offer the newcomer his hand. She sniffed it gravely, looked up at him, then bumped her head along his fingers. "Hmmm. You're too smart to be a housecat, and I don't recognize you, anyway. You're her familiar, aren't you? Gwyndeth."

At her mistress's name, the little cat prrped, nodding. He saw then that she wore a thin black corded collar to which was attached a small brass tag which read, 'Ayree.'

"Well, Ayree," he started, but just then Jaral shifted on his shoulder and her attention went back to the other cat, her eyes narrowing. Sand could feel a slight level of panic begin to radiate from his familiar, and he chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm not surprised that he's managed to incur your wrath, but I'll see to it that he's properly chastised." Meanwhile, he was already thinking at Jaral, _~You idiot, you _know _better than to harass other familiars – and if she's anything like her mistress, you're in for it _there_. Neither seem to be the type to play around.~_ He felt a wash of disappointment and got the distinct feeling of _Well dammit_ from Jaral, and he chuckled. "He shouldn't bother you again, milady."

This seemed to satisfy her, so she turned to leave and then stopped, abruptly, looking down the side street – more of an alley, really – they were in. He could feel her confusion, and realized that if she and her mistress had only come to town recently, she was likely lost. He picked Ayree up after a brief, 'may I?' and was about to carry her back to the inn when an errant whim arrested his footsteps. He looked down. "It's a bit of a walk, so might I take you back to my shop – which is closer – and give you some refreshments first? I've got a very important experiment to look in on-" _which was true_ "-and then if your mistress hasn't come by I'll take you back. Would that be amenable?"

She didn't speak, of course. Familiars didn't speak unless they were awakened, and it was rare for a mage to keep an awakened beast as a familiar – it felt too much like slavery or servitude. But wizards and sorcerers – here he wrinkled his nose, being a little less than fond of the latter, especially the ones from the Neverwinter College – could communicate by thought, at least with feelings and concepts, if not words, with their own familiars, and the beasts were intelligent enough to understand spoken words. He'd had enough dealings with others' familiars in his centuries that he knew that they _could_ think at mages who were not their own if they wanted to, but very few deigned to have anything to do with anyone other than their own master or mistress. In this, Ayree – Jaral, too – seemed a cut above the rest, as she seemed to have no problems dealing with Sand, although she gave a wary look at Jaral. She looked up at the elf – as he was still holding her – prrped in agreement, and looked expectantly down the alley in the direction they were originally headed.

"Excellent," was his only response, and the three of them – Jaral keeping _very_ still – made their way back to his shop. He set Ayree down just inside the door, allowing her to investigate at her own pace – knowing that, as she was a familiar, his things were absolutely safe – and went to the larder to fetch some cold scraps and cream. Setting them out he gave Jaral a look that said _don't you dare_ – the cat usually ate with Sand, and ate well – and then went into the back to check on his experiment.

_What on earth am I doing, catnapping another mage's familiar?_ He sighed. _Not catnapping, she came willingly, I _did _have an experiment to see to, and is it really so much to want to have an intelligent conversation with someone without an alcoholic – no, a failure of an alcoholic, a traitor to barkeeps everywhere – standing there raising a ruckus about payments?_ He shrugged. _It's not like there's anyone else in this district to converse intelligently with, and even if Nevalle would allow me to talk to the Cloaktower mages, I wouldn't _want _to. And those fools at the college – _Sand shuddered, remembering the last time a few of them had gotten loose in the docks; one of them, a fire-fond sorceress who was _always_ getting into trouble in the seedier parts of town – had managed to destroy a dinghy as well as the dock it was attached to. _Damn sorcerers. No control_.

As he stood in his alchemical lab, Jaral sitting on _one_ corner of the table, helping him, and Ayree sitting on the _opposite_ corner, watching with great interest, Sand found himself keeping an eye on the window which overlooked the alley. He sighed. _Well, if she hasn't the sense to come here for her familiar, maybe it's not such a lost conversation after all. I'll just take Ayree back after I'm done with this experiment._

* * *

><p>"-and then I caught that cat of his sneaking around the storehouse and I swear the next time I looked the rats in there were ten times the size! I had to pay him for double the poison I usually get! And then there was the time that-"<p>

Gwyndeth sighed. "Uncle, the cost of the materials to cast such a spell would be three or four times over what you would pay for all but the costliest poisons, and there's no way a familiar could cast it, anyhow. I can tell you don't like Sand, but he didn't seem too terrible to me. Egotistical, that's for certain, and I'm sure he probably charges a fair bit for cheap trinkets and potions, but that's not really shady – it's barely even unethical, considering that I'll bet ninety percent of his customers are merely looking for ways to indulge their vices." She smiled shrewdly. "And doesn't he already have a fairly steady business from you with that ale purgative?"

Duncan winced and she knew then that she had the rights of it; her uncle felt guilty enough about needing such a potion, and it didn't help that Sand's personality was, at best – pardon the pun – abrasive. Not the kind of person to let such a thing slip under the notice of his ridicule. She shook her head. "I'm not saying he's a paragon of shining justice, but he seemed pretty decent to me, if a bit of an ass." She looked around, absentmindedly. "Mystra knows I can be enough of one in my own rights sometime."

Khelgar, who'd wandered up, snorted. "Come now, lass. Call me an ass, or Neeshka-"

The tiefling in the corner looked up. "Hey!"

He chuckled "- but I wouldn't say it's a trait you or the tree hugger over there possess." She grinned, Elanee pretended to ignore the 'tree hugger' comment, and he looked around, following her gaze. "What're you lookin' for, anyway? You've been starin' around as if you lost something."

She sighed. "As a matter of fact, I may have. Has anyone seen Ayree in the last hour?"

Her uncle looked up. "Last I saw of her was when Sand was here." He began to get upset. "I'll bet he took her and is planning some sort of crazy experiment, and-"

Gwyndeth waved her hand at him. "Uncle, please. Whatever traits _he_ may possess, Sand isn't the type of wizard who would steal someone else's familiar. She probably wandered out – we all know that she's got a cat's own curiosity, and it's worse because she's so smart. I can tell she's not upset or in trouble, I just can't tell where she _is_, because she's far enough away. I'll go down to his shop and ask whether he's seen her."

Duncan shook his head. "All right, lass, it's your pet. But don't go wandering around alone – it's getting close to dark and who knows what kinds of thugs are lurking in the alleys. Sand wasn't half wrong when he mentioned the shadier elements down here in the docks, more's the pity."

She sighed – she'd wanted to get away for a bit, because as much as she loved her new friends, there were times she needed some alone time – but she wasn't an idiot, either. This wasn't the sort of place to take a moonlit walk to clear one's head. "All right. Khelgar?"

"Was hopin' you'd ask, lass. There's always a thug or two in places like this spoilin' for a fight."

He grinned, and she sighed again. "Just no more wanton destruction of property, _please_?"

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><p><em>As always, all characters belong to Bioware, except for Gwyndeth Farlong, who belongs to me.<em>


	2. Alchemy and Exposition

_Thank you to everyone who's started reading so far, and thank you so much for the reviews and comments. I apologize to anyone who knows the game - most of this chapter is just a rehash of the relevant plot points to this point, which I hate to do but I think is necessary. I apologize if my updates are sporadic, but I promise I will see this story through to the very eventual end; it just depends on when I get a chance to write. Also, I don't like rushing things, so it will probably be _very_ long. We'll see._

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><p><em>Ch. 2 - Alchemy and Exposition<em>_ - in which Sand learns a little bit about Gwyn and Ayree_.

Sand finished the most recent stage of his experiment, then went over the whole lab with Ayree, who was insatiably curious. He had just fished her out from behind the counter, where she was coming dangerously close to finding his crate of fire globes – _Nevalle would have my _hide_ if he found out about those, but how else am I going to keep my shop safe from undesirables_? – when he decided that Gwyndeth wouldn't be coming after all. Strangely enough, Ayree seemed to be completely at ease and unconcerned about her mistress, which either meant that Gwyndeth _was_ on the way, or perhaps he'd judged wrongly and both mage and familiar were complete idiots. He doubted the latter, but couldn't think of any other conclusion.

He'd changed into his second-best robes – after all, he _was_ paying a visit, and was certainly trying to project an image of _not a familiar-stealing catnapper –_ and had Ayree in his arms and Jaral at his feet when her head shot up. They were almost at the door, and she stretched up and put her front paws against the glass at the top, meowing for the first time since he'd met her that afternoon. Therefore, he had a good idea what was waiting on the other side of the door.

Opening it, he saw Gwyndeth, hand raised as if to knock. She looked startled, and even though he couldn't really see her eyes, she seemed a bit embarrassed.

There was a stocky, bald dwarf at her side – _Mystra, is he wearing _monk _robes?_ – and he immediately set about with a loud guffaw. "There ya go, lass, he saved you the trouble o' knockin' an' opened the door for you. Means you can stop standin' there wafflin' for a good ten minutes."

At this statement, Gwyndeth turned red and Sand felt his mouth twitching, but Ayree saved her mistress by jumping into her arms, bumping her head against the sun elf's chin, and a wide smile broke out on Gwyndeth's face. Sand could read her fairly well at this close distance, and realized that she'd known where Ayree was, but had been trying to figure out a way to ask tactfully without coming straight out and accusing him of catnapping – something he appreciated mightily, since he had trouble lying, although no real trouble in avoiding the truth. Again, he realized another measure of respect for her – it had been a long time since he'd run across anyone with tact, and even longer since it had been used in regards to himself. _Although I suppose I don't really invite tact, as I myself don't practice it on idiots and really… there are very few people who _aren't _idiots._

He watched with fascination as Ayree rubbed her face across Gwyndeth's chin – he wondered if the cat was going to knock off her glasses, but realized that she was making a careful effort not to – and then climbed up her shoulder, halfway down her back, ending up in a slump across the elf's other shoulder with her tail laying across her mistress's head. Gwyndeth sighed. "Fond, silly creature," she murmured, scratching Ayree's head. Ayree purred.

"I wonder that you allow her to use you so," Sand said, dryly. He heard a catty laugh from his feet with an accompanying sense of _Right, like you don't do the same;_ he firmly thought ~_Silence!~_ in his familiar's direction, who just laughed again. Meanwhile, Gwyndeth shrugged.

"Neither of us is perfect, and we allow each other our foibles." She put a finger to the bridge of her glasses, and looked up at him – _so strange to find a woman shorter than I am_. "I somehow doubt that yours is so _very_ different."

At his feet Jaral laughed again and Sand chuckled, bowing slightly. "Indeed, you've seen through me." He stood back. "Come in, come in. Peruse my wares – and might I offer you tea?" _I don't know why I'm inviting her in when it's this late, but it _would _be nice to have a decent conversation and I don't really know when she's leaving_.

She nodded, smiling, but then bit her lip, looking at the dwarf. He waved at her. "Ah, go on, lass. If I heard that bony uncle of yours aright, there's another inn around here somewhere. I'll just have a few pints and then come back and get you."

She smiled in relief. "Thanks, Khelgar. Don't forget about me, all right? Duncan would have a fit if I went back by myself, even though I _do_ know half a dozen protective spells." His answer was a laugh and a wave as he disappeared quickly around the corner.

* * *

><p>"Why," Sand asked, helping her with her cloak, "is your dwarf wearing monk's robes?"<p>

He was rewarded with a long laugh. "Apparently he had his own handed to him in a fight with some monks of Tyr, and decided that their way of fighting was the only way for him. He's been trying all day to convince them to take him for training at the temple, but they've set him a series of 'know thyself' tasks that will take him quite a while, if you ask me."

Sand snorted. "The religious types tend to do that, but from what I've seen, they _sometimes_ have good reason."

Gwyndeth took off her gloves and put them with her cloak, watching as Ayree scampered off to get into more mischief, and Jaral promptly hid on top of one of the bookshelves, although he watched the other cat closely. The sun elf shook her head. "No, this time they certainly have good reason. If you could see just how many fights a day Khelgar tries to provoke, well... Tyr preserve him – and us."

By this time, Sand had shown her into his lab, which was where his tea kettle was also located. Filling it, then putting it on the fire, he chuckled wryly. "Are things so dangerous for you that you need travel with such an escort, then?"

Gwyndeth sighed. "It's... a long story," she said, absent-mindedly, as she leaned over to peer at his experiment. "Is that... an asp, I see?" She blinked. "A greenfang, at that."

Sand stood, turning in surprise. "You know them? I had to look for a time to get a specimen that wasn't just fangs or skin."

She laughed. "Harbourman, remember? They're all over the swamps out there. What are you _doing_ with it?"

He pointed at the beaker. "That's the poison-" he pointed at the next globe up, attached by a slender glass tube "-and that's goat's milk, with some athelas mixed in." He paused, but before he could continue, she nodded slowly, a look of comprehension dawning.

"Boiling the poison separates out the numbing agent, and the milk acts as a base to clear the poison from the steam. Adding athelas helps with the cleansing, I assume?"

The wizard nodded, looking taken aback. "Indeed. May I say that I am pleasantly surprised? It's not often I find someone down in these wretched docks who knows anything about magic, much less alchemy."

Gwyndeth shrugged. "I've often thought that greenfang venom would be useful if I could remove the poisonous side-effects. Bev- er, a friend back home - used to get bitten quite often. We'd always get to him in time, but it was when he got bitten on a fractured ankle that I realized that it was actually quite useful as a pain reliever."

Sand hrmed to himself. _There's that reluctance again. I wonder who this Bev is – a lover, perhaps? An ex-lover?_ He shrugged mentally. _Not that it really means much_. Outwardly, he merely nodded, and she continued.

"Have you thought, perhaps, to mix flameback spider venom with the poison? You'd have an effective numbing agent that also relaxed the affected muscles, and it seems to me that you could purify it in the same way."

He blinked, hand halfway out to hand her a mug of tea. "That's an excellent idea. The only question would be how to apply the mixture to the affected area. Neither are effective as a topical ointment, and oral ingestion would simply cause the entire body to go numb. That might be useful in some situations, but it seems to me that it would need to be monitored closely lest it affect vital systems."

Taking the mug with a nod of thanks, she tapped her fingers along the sides in thought, warming her hands. Eventually, she looked back to the experiment. "I've read some things in a book Tarmas lent me – sorry, he was my mentor – but I'd need to do some research to see if it's viable, first. I'll let you know if I find anything."

By this time, Sand had cleared off a chair, and led her to it. "Please, Gwyndeth, sit. My alchemy room may be cluttered, but it's the second most comfortable room in the shop."

She sat, handing him her empty mug. "Thank you – but please, call me Gwyn. No one calls me Gwyndeth, other than Elanee, and that's just because I can't convince her otherwise. I think being in a city puts her too much on edge."

Sand nodded. "Elanee – that would be the druidess I saw earlier?" Gwyn nodded. "Is she, too, part of your entourage?"

Gwyn grimaced. "Mystra, don't say it like that. I admit I have an alarming habit of picking up stray companions as I travel, but they've been very helpful. It's not as if I want to _lead_ anyone." She sighed. "But... yes. Elanee, Khelgar, and Neeshka."

"Neeshka – is she the tiefling I spotted briefly in the corner?" Gwyn nodded. "I seem to recall her as being a native to the city – she used to run with a petty thief named Leldon, I think."

Gwyn raised an eyebrow. "You're remarkably well informed – or is Neverwinter so small that everyone knows everyone else's business? I thought I'd gotten away from that when I left West Harbour."

Sand smirked. "I'm just remarkably well informed, my dear. I find that it... aids me... in some of my lines of work." Her eyebrow stayed raised, but she said nothing else, so he continued. "Tell me, what led you to ending up in such a place with such a quest, and such companions? You _did_ ask for my advice, and even though I still believe that we need Aldanon's information before we can make any significant progress, I really should know the whole story. After all, if you go to a physician and only give him half of your symptoms, he may very well treat the wrong illness."

His guest leaned her head back, closing her eyes as she rubbed her eyelids behind her lenses. "Bah, you have a point. It's a long-ish story, however, and not a very interesting one."

He sat across the table, reaching for his foolscap and quill. "I'll be the judge of that, thank you. Often it's those farthest from the truth that can best see the eddies and patterns."

Ayree, perhaps sensing her mistress's reluctance, leapt up into her lap. Gwyn began to stroke her, absent-mindedly, and then nodded. "Well, the only things we know about the origins of these shards is that they were found in the aftermath of the war with the King of Shadows, what was it – twenty-five years ago? I was a babe at the time, so I can't remember any of it, but apparently my mother died then, although I don't know anything about why, or how. I doubt that has any relevance to the situation. I don't think Duncan knows where or how the shards were found, but if you think it's important, I'll write Daeghun and ask. He was unremarkably unforthcoming with information when he _sent_ me on this goose-chase, but we'll see. _Perhaps_ he'll be of assistance."

Sand nodded, waving his hand at her. "That would be helpful, yes. But you're time-skipping, my dear. Chronological progression, if you please?"

"Sorry. Well, about three months ago – on the anniversary of the battle, actually, which I found curious – we were awakened one night by a contingent of grey dwarves and... other _things... _as they invaded the town. I don't know what most of them were, but they seemed goblinoid. Picture the requisite death, pillaging, and destruction, only with a lot more death and destruction and not as much pillaging." She grimaced, and he slid her refilled mug of tea across the table to her. "They seemed to be looking for something. Afterwards, Daeghun said that it was likely the shard – the one I brought with me to Neverwinter – so once we'd taken stock of our losses he sent my friend Bevil and I out to some ruins in the swamp, where he'd hidden it, years ago. We had to sweet-talk some lizardmen into letting us take it, but it didn't take more than a day to get back."

It was Sand's turn to raise an eyebrow – _Sweet-talking lizardmen? Mystra. And there's the mystery of Bev, solved. She also seems to be avoiding most details about the attack; it must still be fresh to her._ "Did your friend not come with you to Neverwinter?"

She looked uncomfortable at this. "Daeghun said it'd be better if I went alone, and hidden, and well – we lost a lot of milita men and women in the attack, so every hand was needed. I wouldn't be surprised if Georg's put him in charge of training, after this."

"Dangerous not to go alone, yet you ended up in Neverwinter with a dwarf, a tiefling, and a druid in tow."

Gwyn rolled her eyes. "As I said, I seem to have a habit of adopting strays – and they've really been helpful. I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for all three of them; whatever _things_ are looking for this shard latched onto me anyhow and have been shadowing me, although I think we lost them after Highcliff, when we set sail for Neverwinter." Her lips twitched at these last words, but if there was a joke, she didn't share it just then.

"I picked Khelgar up in an inn; he was, of course, knee-deep-" she paused. "Well, forehead-deep-" Sand snorted and she looked gratified "- in a fight with some drunken idiots. I helped even the odds, but not long after, the inn was attacked by more of my mysterious stalkers – let's just call them goblins, for ease of storytelling purposes. It was afterwards that Khelgar decided 'a skinny elf' would be of no use on her own, and elected to come with me. We picked Neeshka up at Fort Locke, where we did a few jobs for Marshal Cormick, and Elanee helped us out when the goblins ambushed us during a _lovely_ woodland stroll to Highcliff. She stuck around – no, I _don't_ know why – and the subsequent voyage from Highcliff was a lovely amalgamation of seasick complaints and self-proclaimed death-throes from her and Khelgar." She snorted. "I think Neeshka was going to kill the both of them if we hadn't landed when we did."

Sand chuckled at some of this, although he stayed focused on making sure his notes were as accurate as they could be. When she finished, he looked up. "So, no signs of these – goblin-things – since you came here?"

She shook her head. "Granted, I've only been here for two days, so I'm sure that could all change – but, no." She blinked. "Oh. You wouldn't happen to know the phrase, 'kalach-cha', would you? What language it is, or what meaning?"

He blinked. "Kalach-Cha?" Rolling the words around in his mouth to get a sense of dialect, he shook his head. "I may be brilliant, and I _do _speak some eight or ten languages, but this isn't anything I've encountered. It's certainly not present-day elvish – which I'm sure you yourself know -" she nodded "- and it's not dwarven, infernal, common, or giant. I can't recognize it in any of the old elven dialects, either – it's not from Eaerlann, Illefarn, or any of the earlier or subsequent kingdoms." He tapped the quill against his chin. "It sounds like a title, though. Like 'Lord-Commander', or 'Betrayer'."

"Well, that would make sense, as quite a few of them seemed to be referring to me directly when they used the term." She shrugged. "With my luck, it means 'blasphemer' or something. I suppose it's just something else to do research on."

Setting his quill in the inkstand and tapping the edges of his notes on the table to even them up, he nodded. "Indeed. I will do what I can to investigate this, and I assume you still plan on trying to get into Blacklake?" He paused. "I do hope you're still considering the Watch, because for all that they may be rather ineffectual in this district, your only other option would be to seek out Caleb, one of Moire's people – and he's not only despicable, but also disgusting. The only reason I can think he's not been killed yet is because no one wants to get downwind of him."

Gwyn snorted. "Yes, I plan on seeking out Marshal Cormick tomorrow. I'm not _really_ the 'black-market, illegal-dealings, and bribes' sort of person." She drained the last of her mug of tea, then looked across the table with a mildly embarrassed mien, a question obviously resting on the tip of her tongue.

Sand raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

She looked down at Ayree. "Well... I was just wondering how much you thought you'd be charging in the end for this. I'm sure the Watch will give me a bit of coin, but I'm not particularly rich-"

He sighed. _Damn Duncan to the nine hells_. "Don't worry, and _please_ don't listen to that uncle of yours. I'm a businessman, yes, but I'm _not_ the moneygrubbing fool he seems to enjoy making me out to be. You've already given me plenty of academic ideas -" he motioned towards his alchemical equipment "-and perhaps we can work something out in that vein. Besides, your being here will bring me more business, as I assume you'll be needing your own supplies, and there's no other reputable magic shop anywhere nearby."

She nodded, looking relieved and a bit more embarrassed, but before she could speak they both heard loud, drunken, dwarven singing outside in the alley beside the shop. She chuckled. "I think my escort approaches."

Sand stood, following her into the foyer – both cats following _him_ - and again helped her with her cloak. "He sounds rather inebriated – I hope that doesn't affect his 'escort' capabilites."

She snorted. "You haven't seen Khelgar when he's drunk – if anything, it's the opposite."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll leave you to it, then." Bowing, he handed her gloves to her. "Thank you for your visit, and perhaps next time you can look at my wares. Believe it or not, I enjoyed our conversation, and I look forward to unravelling this mystery of yours."

* * *

><p><em>All characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree<em>.


	3. Unreluctant Secrets

_Since they never actually give the K-C a chance to react to Sand's backstory, I thought it'd be interesting to have it out earlier rather than later. Besides, there will be plenty of other stuff to cause misunderstanding later. Hurrah for drama! _

_As always, thank you for reading, and please feel free to r&r!_

* * *

><p><em>Ch. 3 - Un-reluctant Secrets, in which our hero learns that perhaps he is not quite as immune to alcohol as he thought.<em>

"I swear, if _any_ of my old associates hear about this, my reputation will be _dead_ in this city! I can't _believe_ I'm working with the _Watch_, of all the _rotten_ ideas! If any-"

She was halted by an icily frustrated tone. "If any of your old associates can find you, _you'll_ be dead, or have you forgotten that lovely little welcome your old pal Leldon left for us? And all because of some damned _trinket_! I swear, Neeshka, if you _don't stop complaining_ I'm going to… to… argh! I'll leave you at home!"

The tiefling stopped in mid-complaint, blinking down at the fuming sun elf, and Khelgar blinked up at her. "Well, now, lass. That's a mighty dangerous threat you've laid down there."

Gwyn threw her hands up in the air. "Neeshka, you're not even _with _the watch! I don't know _why_ you two feel the need to come with me every day – at least Elanee has the sense to stay home. There aren't any other members who have a 'retinue', and I'm skirting the rules every time you two step into a fight since you're _not_ with the Watch and it's not like I can deputize you - I'm only a deputy myself."

Neeshka shrugged and Khelgar grinned. "Just call me an int'rested party, lass, and have done with it. Anyhow, it's not like you can take care of yourself."

She fumed a bit harder at this, but couldn't exactly refute it – it wasn't that she _couldn't _protect herself, but they'd been ambushed twice by more of those… goblinoid… _things_ in the past week, and it really was lucky that she'd hadn't been alone. Especially as she hadn't exactly been paying attention to her surroundings at the time; really, it was not shaping up to be a good week so far for Gwyn.

It had started well enough; she'd gone to see Marshal Cormick the day after it had been suggested. He'd not only given her a bit of a reward for helping out at Fort Locke – which she demurred about, sure, but still accepted, since she needed to keep feeding her rowdy bunch and the only available fare at the Flagon was horrific bar-food – but he also signed her up as a new guardsman and immediately set her out to patrolling.

Unfortunately, that had the effect of putting her in contact with some of the other deputies out on patrol, and at least three of them had tried to pull the 'new blood' into their payoff schemes. That certainly wasn't the way Gwyn operated, and it was decidedly difficult to turn them down without exciting suspicion whilst keeping Khelgar from jumping down their throats and Neeshka from completely giving up in disgust, as the thief's eyes had brightened the moment the words 'extra coin' surfaced. Then, when she'd reported this to Cormick, he'd asked her to start surreptitiously picking up any other information she could about these bribes, and _that_ proved to be nearly impossible. _Gwyn_ could be subtle. Khelgar, on the other hand, was about as understated as a brick to the face, and Neeshka wanted to _take_ the bribes, which didn't help her friend's case in the slightest. She would have been tempted to just leave them behind and do it alone, except that while she was a very _good _sorcerer, she still wasn't quite good enough to take on four or five heavily armed and armoured men at once, by herself.

_As a sorcerer_ – aye, therein lay her second rub. She knew that wizards and sorcerers were often at odds with one another; sorcerers, who had more of an innate aptitude for magic – they knew fewer spells, but were quicker with them and never had to worry about 'memorization' – often looked down their noses at wizards, who had greater versatility, but learned their magic by great study and discipline and often had to refer to their spellbooks. This, combined with what most wizards termed 'the lack of responsibility inherent in sorcerer abilities and casting styles' (many sorcerers tended to be hot-headed and/or quick-tempered) caused great friction between the two mage groups. Gwyn herself was a little of both – she found that many of the support-style spells came naturally to her, but she'd always paced herself and forced herself to study all branches of magic, as well as the ones she enjoyed, just so that she wouldn't be caught unawares some day. This lead to her keeping a spellbook on her at all times which, apparently, had convinced Sand that she was a wizard, not a sorcerer. And apparently, Sand had an even greater-than-usual dislike of sorcerers – he attributed it to the local college of magic, but Gwyn wondered if there wasn't perhaps more to it. When she'd rattled off a spell one day that _wasn't_ in her spellbook, he'd demanded an explanation, and they'd gotten into a _very_ heated argument. She and Ayree had stormed out, and she hadn't seen or spoken with him since.

That had been four days ago. _It's not that I'm dying for his company – he's almost as big a curmudgeon as Tarmas sometimes, although more amusing and witty. But _Mystra _it's been nice to have an adult to talk to on occasion. Especially after a long day of Neeshka and Khelgar arguing _through _me._ Top all of that off with the fact that telling Sand about the attacks in West Harbour had brought everything back to focus – everything she'd spent the entire trip to Neverwinter trying to forget – and the week had been pretty miserable. Just the night before she'd had a long dream about some day, long ago, when she and Amie had gone tramping through the swamps looking for fireflies. Gwyn had woken in tears, and the rest of the day had not been any better.

Realizing that the day was not _going_ to get better and that her attitude might just get her killed – or painfully skewered – Gwyn threw up her hands. "All right, we're off duty starting now. I'm going back to the Flagon; you two are free to go- well, wherever."

She sighed; she'd _wanted_ to get this little assignment of Cormick's over quickly, so that she could get into Blacklake, but it was looking like it might take a while longer. _It's just as well_, she thought, wandering back to Duncan's with Khelgar trailing behind – Neeshka had vanished as soon as Gwyn had given the word. _After all, I'm getting the distinct impression that even if I finish this, they won't let me in until these Cloaktower mages have decided they're done with the area. Better I have something to occupy my time that's_ not _just busywork, or if I'm not careful, they'll start sending me off on escort duty or something. Bah. Luckily I _don't _have any pressing needs centred on the shards, aside from these little ambushes; what we know is too nebulous for any sort of deadline. My only goal was to get it away from West Harbour and keep anyone _else _from getting slaughtered. _She pressed her knuckles up to her eyes, under her spectacles, to stem her tears.

This, of course, simply served to make her blink when she finally opened her eyes again, and they were just reaching the Flagon by the time she'd been able to shake the grey fuzziness out of the corner of her eyes. She then blinked again upon seeing _two_ tails waving from the windows in the main room – one easily belonged to Ayree, with its huge black splotches; the other was spotted, and she'd swear belonged to Jaral. _Well, it explains how Duncan's been keeping up with his ale purgative, but as I haven't seen Sand, he must be coming to visit while I'm on patrol_. For some reason, this idea put her even further out of sorts, and she just shrugged. _No reason to bother him. I'll just go in, let Duncan know I'm home, and go take a nap. Gods know I could use one_. She sent out a quick ~_H__ere~_ to Ayree, who she'd poked earlier when she'd decided to call it an early day, and opened the front door.

* * *

><p>Sand sat at the inn table, feeling lightly irritated. <em>Dammit, Ayree let Jaral know that Gwyn was coming home early, and as Duncan's usually out at this time – running errands, or drinking elsewhere – I thought it'd be a perfect time to get it out of the way. Even if she'd stopped to smell every rose in the docks she should be here by now – it's not<em> really _a very floral place._ Indeed, he looked – and was well aware that he looked – like he should be switching his _own_ tail in time to the familiars', if he'd had one. After all, he'd come to make an apology, and that always put him a little out of sorts.

Finally, the door opened and a blonde head with familiar spectacles peered around the edge. "Uncle, I decided to take the day off, an-" She stopped in confusion when she saw that it was just Sand, and her face fell, which for some reason exacerbated his annoyance. "Oh, I expected my uncle, so please accept my apologies, I'll let you be."

Before she could pull back completely, however, Sand stood. "Oh, don't go," he said, in an irritated tone. _I am very glad the dwarf is more interested in ale than gossip_, he thought, noting that Khelgar had already disappeared down the hall and into the kitchen. He sighed. _I hate apologies. Always so awkward, especially since I am so rarely ever in the _wrong_._

Gwyn blinked, and he could see a baulked mule look beginning to surface. "Pardon, Sand, but did you need me for something?"

He shook his head. "I _came_ to apologize, actually. I said… some rather harsh things, the last time we spoke. I've come to the conclusion that… you're more level-headed than most sorcerers that I know, and I can… respect the fact that you realize the limitations of sorcery and have begun to study the intricacies of wizardry. If I can ever help you in that field of research, let me know. It would be nice if _more_ sorcerers took your initiative." He bowed, stiffly.

Gwyn, meanwhile, stopped – first, astounded, and then, increasingly, very amused. She could tell what it was costing the wizard to give her this apology, and she realized it for what it _meant_, not just how it sounded, so she gave a little bow in response, once he'd raised his head. "I accept, Sand – and thank you. I, also, owe you an apology, because I realize now that 'misanthropic and short-sighted tyrant' is a little bit of a misnomer. And also, an insult, so I am sorry."

Sand's mouth twitched a bit at this, and he nodded. "Now _that's_ out of the way you can come back to my shop in the evenings, and I won't have to come out here more than once a week for your uncle's purgative." He picked up Jaral, who'd wound around his ankles, then jumped up to the table. "In fact, if you'll come over tonight, I've got that poison almost completely distilled, and I think you'd be interested to see that I've been able to utilize that syringe idea you brought over."

Gwyn's face fell. "I don't know if tonight is really so good-" she started, but he waved his hand.

"Nonsense. You've spent the week with Khelgar and Duncan, you need some intelligent company."

She chuckled. "That's not a lie, but I'm really not feeling in spirits, so-"

He waved a hand again. "Exactly why you should leave the swine alone to wallow for one night. I have wine, an excellent vintage." _What on earth are you doing offering her your best wine, are you_ insane_?_ His ego was incensed, but his logic spoke up. _Come now, there's no way she can drink more than a glass or two, and it will be worth the company_.

Meanwhile, Gwyn laughed a little, the lines on her forehead easing ever so slightly. "Fine. Give me some time to rid myself of the docks-street grime I accrue each day on patrol, and I'll be over, once I see what kind of offering I can bring."

He nodded, bowing again, and then left quickly with Jaral before either the dwarf or innkeeper could catch him and ask yet another inane question. Oddly enough, he was feeling much more lighthearted now that his errand was complete – _likely because the apology is out of the way and she didn't try to rub my face in it. I can appreciate a woman who doesn't overuse the '_I told you so' _card._

* * *

><p>He'd changed into a nicer set of robes – noting that it was actually rather nice to have company that wasn't of the toothless and drawling type – and was just about to wonder if perhaps she'd fallen asleep when Jaral's head shot up and there was, shortly after, a knock at the door. When he opened it for her, he was obscurely pleased to notice that she'd also 'dressed up,' as it were.<p>

He smiled. "I appreciate that you didn't feel the need to wear your Watch uniform out here."

Gwyn chuckled, letting him take her cloak. "Eh, it's my night out away from the children, why shouldn't I dress well?" They both laughed, and Ayree – who'd apparently accepted Jaral's apologies – shot off to knock her friend down from the bookshelf, and the two disappeared upstairs into the attic, where Sand kept many dusty and wonderful objects to prowl around.

He poured wine for himself and Gwyn, then led the way into his lab, where they both sat and proceeded to talk alchemy for over an hour. His logic was happily vindicated when she turned down a third glass; unfortunately, he himself forgot to have such compunction and by the end of the second hour – once he'd gotten her to unburden herself about what had been bothering her about West Harbour and tell him more about the attacks – he was on his fourth. _Sand, are you a fool? You never drink this much. If you're not careful, you'll say more than you want to._

_Oh, I never have a _reason _to drink this much. I _don't _get drunk, and I never say more than I want. _

_Fine. Have it your way._

He focused back on Gwyn, who was telling him about Amie's death. "- and Tarmas was incensed, but I think that was to hide the pain. She _did_ run into the middle, after all – he'd been holding the enemy mage off, but once she broke his concentration, they – _it_ – was able to get off a spell that killed her instantly." She frowned, staring into the dregs of her glass. "I still feel bad. I was the older student, and I was the better mage. I should have done _something_." Sand waved the bottle at her again, and she sighed, nodding. "All right, but just half a glass."

Sand proceeded to fill her glass completely, then set the now-empty bottle down. "You see, my dear," he said, waving his own glass at her. He was much more cheerful now, and she was beginning to suspect that he was at least a little tipsy. "You can't take these things to heart. Yes, I'm sure you loved your friend, but really – when you think about it practically – could you have actually stopped her? You likely would have been killed as well, and that would have been a much _greater_ travesty." He stopped, taking a drink, while she sipped her wine; she frowned, and of course didn't look convinced.

"You know, when _I_ finally had enough of the murder and machinations of the Host Tower and decided to flee Luskan, I had a – well, a friend, someone I thought I respected. We'd talked it out, decided we'd both had enough, but when the time came, she chose the chance for more power over the idea of a more, well – _lawful_ – life, and tried to betray me. I had to leave her for dead. If I dwell too much on that, it will only bring me down, and after all – in the end – I did what I had to do. I know it's not the same, I'm certainly not trying to compare your friend to that backstabbing little-" he paused, and took a breath. "It's just that there's a time and a place for regret, and you've got to let it go when logic shows that there would have been no better outcome." He shrugged, having lost a little of his lighthearted tone, and despite his words, it was clear that it _did _weigh him down.

Gwyn, meantime, had frozen, glass halfway to her mouth. _Did he just say Host Tower? Isn't __that-_

_Luskan. Neverwinter's enemy. The place where the magisters tack colours onto their name and then proceed to throw every shred of morality out the window in search of more and greater power._ She took a drink, her mind reeling.

_Sand was in the _Host Tower? _I had no idea he was so powerful – no, he couldn't have been a magister. There's no way one of the Colours would have disappeared and the news _not _have reached far and wide. And there's no way one of the Colours would have had enough of a soul left to regret '_murder and machinations'. _Mystra, I wonder just what he's done – and who 'she' is. Obviously a former lover. _

She shrugged, leaving that awkward thought alone. _It obviously bothers him, though. But I can only imagine what Lord Nasher would do, knowing one of the Host Tower was within his borders – is that why Sand stays in the dock district, to avoid notice?_

As if in answer to her thought, Sand – who'd grown introspective – jumped up. "I'm sorry, Gwyn. It's late, and I've kept you talking – and I have a meeting with Nevalle in the morning which, sadly, I will not be allowed to miss." With that, her question was answered, and the rest of the pieces fell into place. She'd been in the Watch for a little more than a week now, and had listened to Captain Brelaina enough to know that _Sir_ Nevalle was Lord Nasher's right-hand man, and the second-highest authority in Neverwinter.

_Aha. They know, and they're letting him stay in return for – I wonder what. Spying, most likely. Any information he can give them on Luskan, and anything he finds here in the docks. I suppose there's always a worry that Luskan is going to try to make a move on Neverwinter again. _She shook her head in a bit of a daze, but stood, nodding.

"Oh, of course... and I have to patrol tomorrow, as usual. Thank you for the wine, and the talk." She tilted her head, looking at him, wondering if he'd be all right as tipsy as he was – _drunk, actually, as I doubt he'd have said as much otherwise. I'm glad I stuck to two and a little bit._ Deciding that he was likely old enough to have more than enough experiences with hangovers, she let him show her to the door and retrieve her cloak – Ayree having fallen asleep on top of it quite some time ago.

* * *

><p>Sand's introspection had, of course, been due to his logic finally finding enough air to swim to the surface of his mind and scream <em>are you MAD? What did you just say?<em>

_What do you mean? I was just trying to make her feel better, and- Oh no, I _didn't_- _

_Oh yes, yes, you did. You just told her about the whole bloody Host Tower and Luskan deal. _And_ you have to deal with Nevalle in the morning – you'll be lucky if he doesn't sniff this out_.

_Shit. _He jumped to his feet, praying that she hadn't grasped quite what he'd said and _dammit. She's got that pensive look on her face_. But she merely nodded, and thanked him, and let him show her – quite quickly, before he said anything _else_ stupid – to her cloak, then to the door.

The cold night air was enough to wake him almost completely out of his alcohol-induced torpor, and the rest went quickly when, upon opening the door, he heard a very strange, scratching voice whine, "Deliver us the shard, Kalach-Cha!"

He tried to remember exactly where he'd heard that phrase before, but had only just remembered his previous conversations with Gwyn when she cried, "Get _back_!" and jerked him into the room. The loud 'thunk' of a short and thick crossbow bolt lodging itself in his front door caused his heart to lodge firmly in his throat – he was _never_ fond of fighting, even if he knew he had the other party outskilled, and in this case, _he had no idea. _He threw his hands out and began to frantically chant the words to a fireball spell, only realizing halfway through that _gee, perhaps a shield would have been a better first choice_.

As if reading his mind, however, Gwyn threw up one arm and, without missing a beat, enveloped the two of them – the cats having fled upstairs, within range but out of danger – in a globe of arcane energy. Her fireball was seconds behind his, and he could tell by the smell of burnt _something_ that at least one of them had made contact. They ran out into the alley - Sand being very careful to stay within her sphere of _less danger_ – and found one corpse, the other creatures having fled.

Gwyn sighed, looking frustrated. "This happens _every _time. They ambush us in a group of no more than two or three, hoping to take me by surprise, I guess – but we can only kill one before the others flee. It's making me _jumpy_ and I _hate_ it."

Sand, meanwhile, - who was no longer drunk in the _slightest – _had knelt at the body, then gave an exclamation. "This is _gith_! Not quite a githyanki, but it holds many of the same physical characteristics, and _what in Faerun are githyanki doing following you around?_" At her blank look of confusion, he shook his head. "Nevermind. It's too late, I drank too much wine, and we both have an early day tomorrow – but you really need to come back tomorrow evening so that we can talk more. This puts things in a _completely _different light."

She took a deep breath, then nodded, and he could tell she was shaking. Luckily, they were but a few blocks from the Flagon, so he walked her back; she barely stayed to bid him goodnight, and he could hear the bolt shoot home as soon as she was inside.

_Now, whether that was for the gith or for _me, _I can only speculate_. He shook his head, hoping that whatever else the attack had done, it had driven their most recent conversation from her head. Otherwise, things were going to get interesting, quickly.

* * *

><p><em>All characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree.<em>


	4. Haunting Past

_Yep, I'm pulling out the stops; this is going to be a little cheesy, a little dramatic, and hopefully still fun - and fluffy, whenever it comes down to it._

* * *

><p><em>Ch. 4 - Haunting Past, in which some questions are answered, but others are raised.<em>

The next morning saw Gwyn back at Sand's shop far earlier than she wanted to be – especially after the mention last night that he would be meeting with Sir Nevalle. Unfortunately, she'd told Cormick about the ambush – as she'd informed him about every other one – and he'd sent her back out to see if she could find any more evidence, although she knew that like every other scene, even the corpse would be gone.

She relaxed as she approached, however; she realized that it was very unlikely that someone of Nevalle's stature would come down to the docks, especially if his dealings with Sand were supposed to be 'secret', and she was sure they were – otherwise she would have heard all about it from Duncan, long before. _It's not a bad thing, either; if Sand is meeting Nevalle elsewhere, it means I won't run into him right now. It's not precisely that I don't want to _see _him, and I agree that he and I need to talk tonight if he has more information on these githyanki that are following me – Gods, that makes things even more confusing. But I want to wrap my brain around things before I see him again. I know that it's not a sin to be from Luskan, but the Host Tower – that, I'm not so sure on. It's definitely a shocker, and I guess I feel a little…_ she paused, blinking.

_Well, I feel betrayed, but I guess I don't really have a right to. I've known him for what, a week? Almost two? And we were at odds for a third of that time. It's just so… _alien… _from how I originally envisioned him. I never exactly saw him as 'above reproach', but I never thought he'd be at Host Tower levels, either. Still, not everyone there _is _as horrific as the stories say; it's like the Red Wizards of Thay. They may be mostly soulless monomaniacs focused on gaining political and magical power above all else, but there are likely a number of innocent individuals seeking nothing but knowledge and learning, as well. Perhaps Sand was one of those, and when things got too tight, he left. With a lover._ She paused, Khelgar at her side, once they reached his shop. _I wonder if she was a sorcerer?_

She knocked for propriety's sake, although she was certain Sand wouldn't be home, but as she was turning to go look at the scorch marks in the alley she heard the door creak open, and she froze. _Oh, dammit. I wasn't ready for this yet._ Squaring her shoulders, she turned, meeting his raised eyebrow and creased-forehead.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect to see you this early – it's not quite noon. Taking another day off?"

Gwyn shook her head. "No; I reported last night's ambush to Cormick, as he knew about the rest, and he sent us back out to investigate, since I know what I'm looking for."

"That's right, elf. We're here on official Watch business, so stand back!" Khelgar almost growled; he'd been more than a little upset that she'd been attacked the night before and he hadn't been there, although she had an idea that it was as much because he missed the fight as it was that he hadn't been able to help.

Sand winced, putting fingers to his forehead, and Gwyn had to suppress a grin – so he _was_ feeling the effects of the wine. _I wonder if he even remembers half – or any – of what he said, last night_. "My dear dwarf, if you could keep things to a _dull roar_ I would _very_ much appreciate it. The body is inside, and there's nothing else outside to find."

Gwyn raised an eyebrow. "You managed to keep the corpse? I'm surprised. Usually, by the time we've come back, it's gone."

"Well, considering that it seems to be a genetic offshoot of a githyanki, I felt it was more than a little interesting, and possibly dangerous." He sighed, looking at her for a long moment. "There's a lot we need to talk about, so come in."

He'd laid the corpse out in his lab; when they got to the back room he turned to Khelgar. "I've seen all I need to, so be a good man and take this back to the Watch building, will you? Your sergeant should be more than happy to have a specimen to poke at."

Khelgar looked to Gwyn for validation, and she nodded. "I should be safe enough here – after all, Sand and I were able to drive them away last night and, if you recall, they never seem to attack two days in a row. It's almost noon, get some lunch, and once you're back I should likely be done with whatever Sand needs to talk about."

The dwarf shrugged and hefted the gith over his shoulder – it was only a little taller than he, and thinner, so he had no trouble. "Right, then, lass. I'll turn this thing in, and be back for you later."

When he'd shuffled off, Sand turned to Gwyn. "I can offer you lunch, but please don't be offended if I don't join you. I don't particularly feel like eating right now."

She chuckled. "What, are you trying to tell me that you had too much to drink last night?"

He rolled his eyes. "This _isn't_ the time for jokes. If you could tell I was growing tipsy, you should have said something."

"How am _I _supposed to know your limits? Besides, it would have been impolite. And you were drunk, not tipsy."

Sand snorted and turned to the kettle over the fire; it'd just started giving off the smell of nice, dark coffee, and he poured some for each of them. At her nod he added cream and sugar to hers, but drank his black; at the first sip the lines on his forehead eased a little, and he nodded. "That's better. Now I can think more clearly." He motioned for her to sit at the table, and then sat across from her.

"I'm sure you remember me mentioning that I had a meeting with Nevalle this morning?" He knew it was too much to hope that she'd forgotten most of what he'd said, and when she nodded, he knew he'd been right. _Dammit_. "Well, I'm quite aware of some of the other things I said, and we can speak about those, as they become important, some other time. But the point of contention now is that I'm sure you've understood the implications of my past when put against the fact that I now live in Neverwinter, _not_ Luskan. Therefore, I do things for Nevalle that are… shall we say, _behind the scenes, _and in return, they let me stay hidden here. It's not exactly ideal, especially considering that I'm not even originally _from_ Luskan, but the Host Tower is what it is and they do not let go of their own initiates easily. I'd rather spy for Neverwinter than dangle from a Luskan gibbet or rot in a Host Tower cell or… worse." He held in a bit of a shiver.

Gwyn merely nodded; she'd raised an eyebrow at the word 'initiate', but said nothing. _After all, it still doesn't tell me his history there, and until I know, I won't make a judgement._

Sand continued. "Well, that aside, I felt that your situation was important enough to bring to Nevalle's attention; we have someone holding relics that the _githyanki _seem to want enough that they've followed you here and continually attack you, and that's a little alarming where the city itself is concerned. We don't usually see gith here, and that's a good thing. We don't _want_ gith here."

At these words Gwyn found herself growing a little pale. _They wouldn't kick me out, would __they? Oh. Think about Sand and his situation; they can, and probably will. After all, I _don't _have a lot of useful strategic knowledge to give them, and I'm certainly no spy. I have these shards that _might _be artefacts, but I won't know until I get more answers, and I _don't _want to give them up. Amie died because of these – I'm not just going to hand them over to some Cloaktower mage_.

As if sensing her turmoil, Sand raised a hand. "We've both concluded that this is something important that needs to be pursued, and he's asked me to keep researching these shards as I can. As alarming as the idea of gith loose in the city _is_, at least if we know where you are, we can predict where they'll strike – after all, no one has been attacked yet _other_ than you and yours. I mentioned Aldanon to him; unfortunately, the business with the Cloaktower mages has not been resolved yet and they're reluctant to let any sort of anomalies through until things can be brought to some sort of conclusion."

Gwyn found herself breathing again when she realized they _weren't_ going to just throw her out of Neverwinter, and she tilted her head. "What exactly _is_ going on in Black Lake?"

"Lord Dalren was murdered two weeks ago – just before you got to town – and it's more than likely the work of demons or necromancers. Possibly warlocks." As gruesome as the subject was, Sand didn't sound too disturbed, and Gwyn raised an eyebrow.

"I gather from your tone of voice that this was not a surprise?"

He hrmed. "Instead of 'not a surprise,' let's say that… hmm… it's not necessarily _unjustified_. There were many crimes in favour of Luskan committed during the war that could have been traced back to Lord Dalren, but somehow, once they were uncovered, Lord Nasher came away with quite a bit of land and holdings that had belonged to Dalren and _somehow_, Dalren was never formally charged."

She frowned. "So you think Nasher was bribed?"

"Eh, consider it more that he was able to put his hands on supplies and support that enabled him to win the war. Nasher may be generous and good to his people, but he _is_ a king, a leader, and a politician. He will always do what's best for his province, no matter the provenance."

"And you disagree with that – you think Dalren _should_ have been killed," she guessed, shrewdly.

Sand shook his head. "I would never wish death upon anyone-" he paused, then shrugged. "Well, upon very few. But I _do_ think that a proper judgement has been carried out, though it would have been better if he'd been given a trial, first."

Gwyn sighed. "Well, that's all very interesting, but do we have any idea _when_ the Cloaktower will be done with the district?"

"We do not."

"So that puts us back at square one, and I suppose that puts me back to running errands for Cormick."

"Well, at least Nevalle said that he's heard that you've been helping the Watch bring order to the Docks, and he appreciates the efforts. So it's not completely wasted."

She grimaced. "Right, right. I'm glad someone's happy. So, please tell me you've got _something_? How did you know this creature was related to the gith?"

Sand shrugged. "Skin colour, skeletal composition, markings and hair colour." He pulled a book down and flipped through several coloured plates, finally coming to one that showed a picture of a taller, lanky, grey-skinned creature that looked much like a cross between human and goblin. It carried a staff, and she started.

"That's it! That's what he was – that mage, the one that killed Amie!"

He closed the book with a snap and a nod. "Well, then, I think we at least have some answers, although it's too early to see how any of the pieces connect. For some reason, you hold shards that are important to the githyanki, and they've been pursuing you to get these pieces." He looked at her. "Do you feel like Duncan's told you everything he knows? Every time I spoke with him, I always got the sense that there was more that he was reluctant to speak about, but I could never get it out of him."

Gwyn sighed and shrugged. "I don't think so. I'll try to get him to talk to me again tonight, if I can – although you're right, it is like pulling teeth."

She paused, and things grew awkwardly quiet for a bit. He'd just turned to refill his mug when she looked back up at him. "What did you mean when you said you were one of the Host Tower's initiates?"

He bit back a curse. "I keep hoping you'd forgotten about everything I said last night, though I know it's not plausible." Sighing, he sat back down. "Well, thanks to my foolishness you know half of the story, and half-information is usually more dangerous than full, so I'd better tell you everything before you get it all wrong." He gave her a piercing look – which, oddly enough, was the first time that she realized that his eyes were actually blue-grey, not just grey. "I assume I don't need to tell you that this information can go _no_ further than between us?"

Rolling her eyes, she sat back. "Yes, because I'm _such_ a gossip."

Sand shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I didn't think it of you, no, but I haven't really known you that long, have I?" He took a drink, and nodded to Jaral, who'd come to sit on the table dead between the two of them. "Well, I was actually born in Neverwinter, although that's something Nevalle and Nasher like to forget – and I suppose my involvement with Luskan gives them the right to do so. I've studied the arcane arts – focusing more on alchemy – for over a hundred years; it was only thirty or so years ago that I decided to go to Luskan and enter the Host Tower Academy, as I was looking to broaden my knowledge. Yes, I knew about them, and I knew their methods; to me, however, knowledge was worth the price and I shrugged all else aside."

"I will say now, I am _not_ a murderer. They may have asked me to do things I did not like and I would rather not talk about most of it, but I do _not_ agree with unjustified death, nor do I espouse the deprivation of free will or liberty. Once I saw some of the things that Luskan was doing in order to win the siege – while it may be true that the Host Tower was not immediately or 'quotably' behind the war, and we have Morag to thank for _that_, you can certainly believe that they sponsored it wholeheartedly – I began to think twice about my involvement with the academy. Soon, I had someone on my side who agreed with my conclusions, and I went about finding the easiest and safest way for us to escape – I'm _not _a musclebound idiot bent on fighting, and I'd prefer to keep my skin whole whenever possible." His eyes grew a bit narrow. "Unfortunately what I _didn't_ know is that she was already in the employ of one of the Colours. My escape plan was betrayed, and it was only through fantastic luck – and my own immeasurable skill – that I managed to flee."

Gwyn looked at him for a long moment. "Was she your lover?"

He frowned and looked affronted, but then nodded. "As much as you can call it that, yes. I've never been a sentimental individual, and there were no vows between us, but I'd been so relieved to find someone who thought the same as I that I fancied myself rather… fond of her."

_So he was head-over-heels in love. I really can't imagine that. I'll almost bet she was a sorcerer, though – and that's why he hates them so much_. She pushed the thought aside, and nodded. "And so, you got here, were found out somehow, and pretty much became Nasher and Nevalle's spy in order to have a place to hide. I assume that's why you're down here and not in the merchant district?"

He chuckled. "Part of it, although _only_ part." He reached over and touched one of the knobs on the sink, and her eyes widened when the water began to run.

"I _see_."

"What can I say? I enjoy my creature comforts. It's true that I _was_ in the merchant district for a while. Unfortunately, thanks to someone getting a little too close for comfort, I was forced to relocate here. I find it suits me; there's corruption everywhere, but at least down here it doesn't pretend. Those like Caleb may be a boil on the face of humanity, but Dalren was no better. At least Caleb's honest about who he is." Sand snorted. "Honest, for a garrotter and thief – that's rich." She smiled and he shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, I want them cleared out as much as Cormick does – and I almost have enough faith in you to think you may pull it off."

"Well, thank you." She pulled a wry face at him, and he chuckled.

"That's a higher compliment than I give anyone else, so you should feel honoured." He stood. "Unfortunately, _you_ should probably continue on your patrols, and my meetings with Nevalle today are far from finished, more's the pity."

* * *

><p>She ended up going back to the Watch building by herself, as Khelgar was nowhere to be found; as it was still mid afternoon, however, she wasn't worried. She realized once she got there that Nevalle – or someone else – must have already been in to see Cormick; he was unsurprised when she told him the creature was likely related to the gith, and merely gave her a long look before telling her that he wanted her to continue working on the bribe issue, as they'd almost managed to pull the net around those deputies who were deepest in with Moire's gang.<p>

The rest of her patrol was uneventful, and when she got back to the Flagon she found Khelgar passed out under the table; apparently 'lunch' had involved a little too much ale. She shrugged, and went to find Duncan, who was in the kitchen chopping up a fish of dubious freshness.

He raised an eyebrow when she sat down across the counter. "What's this, lass? You normally don't come down here to spend time with me – something got you worried?"

She nodded. "In a way. We're finding out more about these shards, slowly – but Uncle, if there's _anything_ else you know about them, you _have_ to tell me. It's hard enough to keep on my toes – I'm sure it would help me to know everything."

His chopping slowed, and eventually, he put the knife down, sighing. "Are you sure, lass? I can't think that it's got anything to do with their history, but it's everything to do with yours, and I always felt it was Daeghun's place to tell you – though I don't know that he ever will." When she nodded, he sighed again. "All right, if you say that it'll help, then I guess I can't help but tell you."

"You know that you were born barely a year before the battle came to West Harbour, yes?" She nodded. "Well, your mother, Esmerelle, and your aunt Shayla both adored you. Daeghun's never mentioned it, but I don't think he and Shayla could have children, and she looked on you as her own. The night they died, he and Shayla were patrolling one edge of the swamp – scouts had pinned the army as coming from the opposite direction, but last minute reports reversed the course and Daeghun and Shayla were heading straight for enemy territory. Your mother was the only one who could hope to track them in time, so she went out to find them as quickly as she could, leaving you behind, at home."

He paused, wiping a hand across his eyes, then reached for his ale mug and took a long draught. "They'd no sooner gotten back to the village when they found that a hidden arm of the King of Shadows' army had taken everyone unawares, and a furious battle was raging. Daeghun tried to stop them, but both Shayla and Esmerelle took off to find you; he was cut off from them by fighting, and by the time he was able to make his way through the village, Shayla had already been cut down, not having even made it home. He tells me – told me, as he's only ever spoken of it once – that he was within sight of the house – your mother was running out with you in her arms – when an explosion rocked the village, and he was thrown to the ground. When the smoke cleared, the army was gone, the King of Shadows was no more – but your mother was dead, still holding you in her arms. This shard-" Gwyn had placed them on the table, and he pointed to the left one, the one he'd given her when she arrived "-was found lying by her. It had gone straight through her chest, as she covered you with her body for protection; it cut you, as well, but somehow you survived."

Gwyn put her hand up to her chest; she'd always had a jagged scar there, but her father would never tell her why. She'd just assumed it was something to do with her heritage, and had not asked any questions. "And the other shard?"

"Daeghun found it when he went to bury Shayla. It wasn't what killed her – she'd been dead before the explosion – but he still kept it, although once we had them both scryed he hid it away in case it held dark magic." He paused, an unhappy look on his face. "So now you see, lass, why we never told you. I can't think that it helps in the slightest, but-"

She shook her head. "It does help, because it tells me that whatever exploded was what created this shard, and I can't help but think that the explosion was what destroyed – or banished – the King of Shadows. It's not much, but it's a start." Her face softened. "And it tells me a little more about my past, and why my foster father hates me so much."

Duncan shook his head. "No, lass, that's just it. He doesn't hate you – he loved you nearly as much as Shayla did, and still does. But it's been twisted, all these years, after spending so long mourning his wife and your mother. He doesn't know _how_ to show you love. I think that's why he sent you away; he didn't want to see the same thing happen again."

Gwyn looked unconvinced. "Yet he sent me away with the trigger - the shard. No, I'll keep my council, but while I suppose you could be right, I have to wait for him to say it before I'll accept it." She stood. "But thank you for telling me."

* * *

><p>Sand, meanwhile, was waiting in one of the back rooms in Castle Never's dungeon – not a comfortable locale, but it was the best place to meet with Nevalle without anyone seeing or overhearing. He <em>really<em> wanted to get this meeting over with, because he had a feeling it was going to be dreadful; apparently Luskan had sent over a new ambassador – _because they really need to try to work on presenting at least a semblance of adherence to the peace agreements; there have been enough rumours of unmarked Luskan ships coming into the docks that I _know _they're up to something_ – and Nevalle wanted to see if Sand knew the woman. He sighed. _Yes, because I spent more than ten years in Luskan, I _must _know everyone of any note there._

Shortly after, Nevalle entered. "Sorry we're late, Sand, but the ambassador had to get her retinue straightened out." Sand stood as a woman walked in, and he bowed; he froze midway, however, when she spoke.

"What a surprise, Sand. I had no idea you were even _alive_ after all this time; I suppose I was as sure Garius had finished you off as you were sure you'd killed me. Funny how things work out, isn't it?"

His head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. "_Torio_. I knew your death was too good to be true."

She sighed, then gave a cruel smile. "Well, well. Things just got interesting – I think I'll enjoy my stay here in Neverwinter, after all."

* * *

><p><em>As always, all characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree. <em>


	5. Uncomfortable Admissions

_I know that Colours really aren't the correct terms for magisters of the Host Tower, but it seemed appropriate. And I do so hate Torio._

* * *

><p><em>Ch. 5 - Uncomfortable Admissions, in which a few more secrets surface and a true snake is revealed.<em>

Shortly after her discussion with Duncan, Gwyn went back to her room; she felt oddly awkward, and she could tell that her uncle's mood had turned maudlin. In front of the fire, she sighed, petting Ayree, who'd jumped up onto her lap.

"Well… that explains a lot more than I expected it to, hmm?" Ayree 'mrrr'd'. "I always thought Daeghun hated me because of my father, for some reason – but now that I know that I'm the reason his wife, well…" she trailed off, sighing, and took off her glasses to rub at her eyes. She kept her blinds drawn, so her room was a little darker than most, and the firelight wasn't strong enough to really hurt. "Damn. I can't find it in me to feel _depressed_ about mother – I mean, I already knew she was dead, and Retta Starling was more of a mother to me. But I can't help feeling guilty about both her and Shayla."

Ayree bumped Gwyn's hand with her head, and the elf smiled down at her. The reason she puzzled these things out loud was to get her familiar's opinion; after all, Ayree _could_ listen into her thoughts, but only commented when Gwyn wanted her input – and spoke to her – unless it was important. ~_Such things are what successful friendships are made of, aye?~ _Ayree purred. "Ah, well. A day late and a copper short – and what would I do? Apologize to Daeghun? _How? _Especially as it wasn't exactly something I chose, and after twenty-five years, all it would do is bring up memories. _Dammit_."

Pushing the thought aside, she scratched the black spot on her familiar's ear. "So, what do you think of the resident curmudgeon and mage?" She paused. "Mmm, yes, I know he's better than Tarmas, _much_ better – but then he's not half as disagreeable. But, _Host Tower_?" Another pause. "All right, all right. You've a point – he _did_ leave, and if he _is_ spying for Luskan, Nevalle and Nasher likely _know_. And I don't think he is, anyhow. He doesn't strike me as the best person I've ever met, but I _do_ like him."

Usually, Gwyn's 'intuition' about people turned out to be true – she was a good judge of character, even if she was oblivious to everything else. _Like Bevil. How awkward was _that? Ayree snorted. "Hey, hey. I know you never particularly cared for him, but it's not _his_ fault that he got his mother's looks – but his father's smarts. And he was in love with Amie – I _know_ he was; I think the only reason he proposed to _me _was out of fear, fear that everyone was going away. I was the one who knew Amie best, and he and I were friends." She sighed, wincing. "Poor Bevil. At least it made it easier for me to leave. Hopefully he's mending. I guess I should write Retta and ask; I owe Daeghun a card, as well, to let him know I made it."

* * *

><p>An hour later she'd finished her letters and went out to post them; on her way back she passed Sand's shop and, seeing the door open, decided to see if he was back yet. He wouldn't care about the personal details she'd learned about the shards, but she figured there'd be <em>something<em> there he might be able to use.

Looking in, she blinked; his merchant golem was behind the counter, but she could hear rustling and the clinking of glass vials from his alchemy lab which indicated that he was, indeed, home. Ayree ran off to find Jaral, and Gwyn stuck her head through the door into his back room.

He _was_ in, and concocting furiously – working harder than she'd seen him yet. There was already a row of small sealed bottles in front of him which she assumed were potions of invisibility, based on how they flickered in and out of sight occasionally. She hesitated, then cleared her throat. "Sand?"

There was no answer, so she tried again, a little louder. "_Sand_?"

His head shot up and he gasped a little in surprise; at the same time, he knocked a basket off the counter and corks and lumps of sealing wax went rolling in every direction. "_Sweet Mystra, don't _do _that!"_

Gwyn hurried to help him gather the errant items, and when she dropped her handful into the basket, she gave him a perturbed look. "So, er. What's got you so jumpy?"

He sighed. "Let's just say that this morning's meeting with Nevalle didn't go so well."

She frowned. "What happened?"

Sand was silent for a few minutes while he finished repacking the basket, then sealed off his newest vial, looking at it as if he'd like to drink it then and there. "I might as well tell you, since you already know half of the story. And I'm sure it won't hurt to have _someone_ know what's happened to me once I go missing." He smiled wryly at Gwyn's look of alarm. "I wish I could say I was exaggerating. Sit down, and I'll make tea."

A few minutes later he sat across from her with his own mug after setting hers down, and she noticed that he seemed to have calmed, ever so slightly. Leaning back in his chair, he gave a sigh of weariness. "Let's see. I'm sure you haven't forgotten that delightful talk we had this morning…" She shook her head. "Well, they say that if you say a devil's name you'll summon him. Nevalle wanted me to meet the new Luskan ambassador this morning, and lo, what did I see but the _charming_ visage of Torio Claven?"

Gwyn gave him a blank look. "Who?"

"Did I not mention her name? That, dear girl, is the woman with whom I tried to flee the Host Tower. The one who betrayed me and whom I'd thought I'd left for dead."

She flushed, shaking her head. They were both silent for a moment, and then Gwyn said, "Well… at least you don't have to feel bad that you killed her?"

Sand snorted, then gave her a long look. "I think you're the only one who would come up with that conclusion first," he said, shaking his head. "And unfortunately, while it may be balm to my conscience, I'm more worried that it would have been better for everyone – myself and Neverwinter included, which are by far the most important, and in that order – if she'd _been_ killed. Torio Claven truly _is_ the snake Duncan tries to liken to _me_, and I'm going to have to start playing a very careful game." He sighed, and after a moment, Gwyn hesitantly tilted her head.

"Surely Nevalle can send her back or-"

"Unfortunately, _no_. To do so would acknowledge weakness on our part, and for now I think it behooves Torio to keep me alive and my whereabouts concealed – this may prove to be an ace to her hand, and Torio _very_ much likes to be on the winning side. For now she will sit, and plot, and wait to strike. And I, my dear, have _never_ liked snakes."

Gwyn gave him a sly glance. "Yet you liked her well enough once."

"Yes, well. Snakes sometimes disguise themselves as rabbits."

"I really hadn't pictured you as someone fond of rabbits. Cats, perhaps, but not rabbits."

Sand gave Gwyn a look that said _thank you very much for turning this into a joke_ and snorted. "Whatever her animalistic nature may or may not be, the issue is that Torio – who is a sorcerer herself, although not nearly at my level of skill -" _I knew it,_ thought Gwyn "- now knows where I am, whereas apparently she thought I was dead, as I did her. She's working for one of the nastiest Colours of the Host Tower – Black Garius – and I think things are going to get _very_ interesting, _very_ quickly." He shivered for a moment, realizing that his words echoed the ones she'd said at their meeting. "And you may want to see that you're far away from Neverwinter once they do."

Gwyn set her mouth, not particularly liking this idea, although she couldn't quite place _why_. "Well, for that, I'll need information on the shards, and for that information to _lead_ me elsewhere."

"True enough. Was Duncan able to give you anything?" Gwyn was glad to see that talking about the shards seemed to cheer Sand up a bit, but this question made her wince. Slowly, she relayed to him everything that her uncle had told her, not leaving anything out – not because she wanted Sand to know her history, but because it was possible he'd see a link that she didn't.

Sand was silent for a time. _Well, that explains the whole 'uncomfortable about her father' thing, I suppose._ Finally, he steepled his fingers and looked up, noticing that she'd cradled her cheek on her hand and was watching him, anxiously. As he was tired and didn't particularly care much about etiquette at the moment – _funny how a morning with Torio will do that to a man_ – he raised an eyebrow. "All right, I'm tired of feeling mystified. Why are you wearing dark spectacles?"

She looked surprised, then flushed. "I can't see that it's of any import."

He gave her a look that said _Really?_ and shook his head. "Mayhap it's not, but if you'll recall, I didn't have to tell you everything about Luskan, either. Those who _need_ to know already do."

Gwyn flushed again. "That's _highly_ unfair; I didn't ask, and you chose to tell me yourself." He continued to give her that look, and she sighed. "Fine, have it your way-"

"-I usually do."

She rolled her eyes. "If you must know, it's twofold. Firstly, to keep my eyes shaded – and secondly, to keep the odd glances to a minimum."

Sand snorted. "Dear girl, you _do_ realize that you get plenty of looks _because_ of those glasses, right? And you _do_ realize that a mage with weak eyesight is asking for trouble?"

With a glare, Gwyn pulled her glasses off, although her fierce look turned quickly to an owlish blink as the brightness in his lab caused her to wince. Her irises were not only colourless, but were a solid, brilliant silver, nearly luminescent, which circled the faintest pupils of dark grey – and Sand found himself gaping ever so slightly. This seemed to mollify her, and she wiped her eyes – bright light always brought tears – before putting her spectacles back on. "They're _not_ weak, they're sensitive. If anything, they're _too_ good." She focused on his back window, which had a small view of the harbour. "I see three ships incoming; two are galleys and one is a schooner."

Sand looked up at the window, saw that he himself – who had always prided himself on his eyesight – could only just see three shapes and determine the closest as a galley – and raised an eyebrow. "Please, pardon my assumptions. Dare I ask?"

She sighed. "Thank my father. Apparently my mother somehow managed to seduce an aasimar – no don't ask me how that works, I haven't the slightest – and I was their by-blow."

He winced at her tone of voice. "You seem to be quite unhappy about that fact. Usually those with a celestial heritage feel blessed by such blood."

Frowning, she picked up a piece of wax and began to poke at it. "Yes, well. I don't know my father – have no idea whether he's living or dead, _or_ what happened to him – and it's not like I can ask my mother. Father – Daeghun – won't tell me about it; gods know I used to ask when I was a child, frustrated because everyone thought me strange. And they did think me strange – pay those lovely fairy tales no mind. I was odd, and it was only because I wasn't a hellion, and because Daeghun was respected in the village – if a bit odd himself – that some of them _ever_ accepted me. Direct sunlight all but blinds me, and instead of giving me an 'alluring' air – which I really couldn't care about – my eyes lend to my being called 'ice queen' or simply, 'freak'. Add that to the fact that for some reason everyone expects me to act like an angel simply because someone in my bloodline was from Celestia, and I'm really less than fond of my 'blessed blood'." She sat back, giving Sand a look that was almost belligerent.

He'd been frowning a bit as she spoke, and nodded more than once. When she finished, he took the well-worked piece of wax from her hand, packed it away, and shrugged. "I'm sorry. Never having had to deal with it myself, I had no idea. But, as you're not the only aasimar who's ever walked through Faerun, I'm sure people will get over it." She glared, looking a bit chagrined, and he continued, getting up to refill their mugs. "What do your companions think, or do they know?"

Sighing, she shrugged. "I'm sure Duncan knows, and if Neeshka doesn't I'll be very surprised. I like her well enough, but being in her presence for too long makes my shoulders itch and I start to sneeze. Elanee _may_ know, depending on that druid sense of hers – Khelgar, I'm sure, has no clue."

"I'm sure that's the least of what Khelgar has no clue about."

The corners of her mouth twitched, and she chuckled, finally allowing herself to smile. "You realize that while I'm sure that I have done and will do many things to evoke your cynicism, I'd appreciate it if this never came up?"

Sand bowed, hand on his chest. "Of course. But I cannot say that I will limit myself otherwise."

"Mmm, I would never dream it. Now... my stupid ancestry aside, did Duncan's new information suggest anything to you?"

Resuming his seat, he shrugged. "Well, I think we could already assume that the shards were related to each other and likely from the same original source. But, knowing that it was something involved in the battle, that it was something used to drive away the King of Shadows – well, that may be no more than Aldanon can tell us, and I'm sure we still need to go to him, but it's a start. However, I do wish I knew whether it was defensive or offensive. As it is, it could have been part of a weapon, a shield, an orb –anything, really. And it doesn't explain why the githyanki want them, either."

Sighing, Gwyn stood. "Well, I suppose that's more than we'd hoped to discover; in one day we've narrowed its origin and at least identified my foes, even if we don't know _why_." She rubbed her eyes again. "I should get back to the inn or dinner won't get made."

Sand raised an eyebrow. "I'm about to cook my own meal, and you might as well stay – that tripe Duncan serves _can't_ be good for you." He gestured for her to sit back down. "Besides, after spending all morning in the presence of jackals, I'm relishing honest company."

She flushed ever-so-faintly and nodded slowly. "Well… I generally don't _eat_ what my uncle cooks. I cook for myself, and for Elanee and Neeshka – Khelgar doesn't care and will eat anything you put in front of him provided it's accompanied by ale. But I must confess… I'm no cook, and the only reason my meals are edible is by virtue of comparison against Duncan's." He chuckled, and she gave a wry smile. "I suppose the others can fend for themselves for once; it's not as if there are no other eating establishments in the city."

Gwyn sat, drinking tea, and talk turned to more pleasant things - alkaloids and transmutations and the distillations of poisons and salves - while Sand deftly rolled out pastry dough. "I'm surprised you're not a better cook," he said, liberally seasoning a pile of beef and vegetables. "Usually cooking and alchemy go hand in hand."

Looking a bit embarrassed, Gwyn shrugged. "I never really looked at it that way – I just don't seem to have any sense as to what would taste good together. I _can_ cook, it's just… flat. Boring." She looked pensive. "Although, I suppose if I did treat it like alchemy, it might not be so bad. The only problem would be remembering not to put nightshade into my chicken stew." They both laughed.

"Mmm, yes. Unless you're _trying_ to kill your guests, I'd suggest sticking to more conventional seasonings." Sand put the pie to bake at the hearth, then sat down. "But, I suppose I shouldn't be one to talk. I've had more than a little time to hone my skills, with cooking _and_ alchemy."

She tilted her head. "How old _are_ you?"

He chuckled, leaning back. "Don't you know that it's _highly_ impolite to ask such a question?"

Gwyn snorted. "Yes, because that's really held us back so far."

"Sadly, 'tis the truth. Well, at least this will give me an opportunity for me to impress upon you the good sense of always following my advice because while _you_ may be twenty-five and some change, my dear, _I_ am two hundred and eleven years old. I believe that makes me your elder."

She merely blinked at him for a moment or two, then gave a low whistle. "Elder _indeed_. _Eldest_, if you ask me."

"Mock all you like," he said, sounding a bit offended. "But at least you know now before you go off and do something ridiculous like fall in love with me."

Gwyn turned an odd shade of mauve and choked out, "Right, because that was so _terribly_ close to happening," and they both laughed. "At least you don't have the fortune to be as old as my father."

Sand rolled his eyes. "_Such_ a consolation, I _dare_ say." The topic then turned to the alteration school of magic – which was his favourite – and spells such as polymorph. They were in debate as to whether it would be better to turn oneself into a mouse or a golem of some sort if, say, one was trapped in a rockslide, when Jaral jumped onto the table and _yowled_. Sand blinked, then sniffed, and swore, jumping up.

She sniffed, and could only just smell burnt pastry. Chuckling as Sand yanked the dish away from the fire, she got up to help him find a towel. "Mmm, an excellent cook, eh?"

"This is _your_ fault. When I don't have to feed others, I don't have to worry about distractions." But he was smiling ever so faintly behind the sarcasm, and she shook her head.

"Well, pardon me. Next time you can just visit the inn and eat what Duncan's serving."

"No _thank_ you. I'd rather burnt pie any day than that foul mess. Besides – it's only slightly darkened on one side. Still perfectly edible, and I dare say, delicious."

He served them both and then brought out the wine, and his prediction was correct – it _was_ excellent. Gwyn sighed once she'd finished her meal. "I suppose there's no way I could convince you to pack up and come with us if I _do_ have to travel again? I can't even make a good cup of tea."

Sand looked horrified. "My dear, you couldn't _pay_ me to travel with your rabble. I _abhor_ sleeping in tents, and I'm not terribly fond of dwarves and druids, either."

* * *

><p><em>As always, the characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree.<em>


	6. A Lengthy Absence

_Enter Casavir and Grobnar - and Qara and Bishop. I always liked Casavir, for all that I wish Bioware hadn't made him quite so 2-D, but he doesn't hold a candle to Sand, I'm afraid. Still, I'll treat him better here than I think they did in game. I adore Grobnar for all he's so loony, but I don't like Qara and I never understood the fascination with Bishop. I don't think there's a very happy ending waiting for him here. _

_As always, thank you for reading, and please, I welcome reviews and critiques, for there is no other way to improve._

* * *

><p><em>Ch. 6 - A Lengthy Absence, in which our hero finds himself missing the heroine - who is off gathering more strays<em>.

Two months later Sand remembered his words and found himself wondering if he wasn't, perhaps, regretting them. Not two weeks after that meeting Gwyn had managed to help Cormick break through Moire's lines. Together, they'd pulled a coup that lead the sun elf and her companions to the forger and blackmailer's hideout, which brought everything to a rather deathly conclusion – though, luckily, with few injuries on Gwyn's end. Captain Breilana was unhappy, of course, that they'd had no one alive to put on trial, but it _had_ cleared out the docks, and rather effectively. Things hadn't been so quiet in years.

Unfortunately, any hopes Gwyn had on gaining access to Black Lake after this were dashed when she was, instead, sent out to Old Owl Well, a _hideously_ isolated location east of Neverwinter, in a desolate area mostly controlled by warring orc tribes. The day she'd received her orders, she came by Sand's shop in high dudgeon.

"An escort. An _escort!_ They're sending me out to some godsforsaken _well_ in the middle of a set of abandoned trading routes to hold some emissary's hand." She threw herself into the cozy chair in his library, looking as if she'd brought her own personal stormcloud. Sand – not particularly _happy_ about this turn of events, but not precisely _surprised_, either – looked up from his research and shrugged.

"Well, the Waterdeep emissary is nearly two weeks late and that's more than enough time to get anxious, especially as he _was_ going to be travelling through such dangerous territory. This is rather important to Neverwinter – can't have our relations with Waterdeep flounder, especially with Luskan breathing down our necks – and I'm glad to see they chose someone competent. Besides, the Cloaktowers still aren't finished with Black Lake, though I doubt they're going to find anything, it's been so long."

Gwyn sighed, still not happy about it, but she did look a bit less mulish. "I know, and they've already briefed me about the orc situation in the hills. Apparently the few people who actually live in and around the area have found someone to lead them and they've been striking back at the orcs who, as always, are supposedly warring with each other. The orcs have taken to calling this person the 'Katalmach.' Really, what is it with unpronounceable titles starting with a K? I still haven't figured out what Kalach-cha means."

He chuckled. "We'll find out soon enough, I hope. I've just gotten my hands on a few tomes concerning the gith, and one of them has a rough translation guide in the back. I'll work on that while you're gone."

Rubbing her eyes, she then gave him a beseeching look. "Are you _sure_ you won't come with us? I _really_ don't want to eat my _or_ Elanee's cooking after mooching off you for so long, and I could _really_ use more firepower. I refuse to bring that little fire witch who's been working for Duncan, even though he suggested that I should. I can't stand her."

Sand's head shot up. "Fire witch?"

"Some girl named Qara – I think she's a sorcerer dropout from the college. She got into a fight with some other apprentices outside the inn last week and almost set the roof on fire. Luckily we have good warding spells." She gave Sand a lopsided grin, but he was looking too perturbed to return it. "Something wrong? Duncan's making her work for the damages, but if she's dangerous-"

"She _is_ dangerous, and more so than many people believe, I think. She's hotheaded, self-centred, and far too overconfident about her own abilities; she's got too much potential and too little willpower to contain it."

Gwyn looked astonished. "_You_ calling someone else self-centred and overconfident? Pot, meet kettle. Kettle, meet pot."

He just gave her a look. "The difference is, while _I_ may be insufferable, I _also_ know how to control myself. And I'm not self-centred to the detriment of all others, _if_ you haven't noticed."

She sighed, but smiled again. "All right, you have a point. You're not _so_ bad, now that I've gotten to know you."

"Why, _thank_ you." His tone was dry.

"But, whatever the issue may be, I just don't _like_ her. Neeshka may be a handful, and I may have to constantly fish her hand out of everything and everyone's pocket, but she's got a good heart. Elanee is standoffish, but kind, and Khelgar is an absolute idiot, but you couldn't ask for a nicer dwarf. Qara is _mean_. There's no spark there, no matter how much I try to get close, or even just get to know her."

Sand snorted again. "Don't bother. I know it's in your nature, but in my opinion, the sooner you send her packing, the better."

"Well, I'll recommend it to uncle once she's done working off her debt. Unfortunately, he's got a soft spot for pretty girls, so sometimes it's hard to get him to see past that."

"He's got you and Elanee around, that should be enough for him."

She flushed at this remark and turned her attention to the fire; Sand hadn't even really realized what he'd said, as he was still half-buried in his research. After a moment of silence that might have been awkward, had he been paying attention, she took off her glasses and started polishing them on the sleeve of her robes. "So I guess that's a no, then?"

He gave her a blank look. "On what?"

"_Travelling_ with us." She sighed.

Sand chuckled. "Dear girl, you _do_ want me to finish this research, don't you? I can't very well do that if I'm trailing after you and your retinue, cleaning up after children, and breaking up quarrels, can I? I'm sure you'll be safe enough as long as you leave Qara here. Besides, I told you. I _hate_ tents."

"Right, right. It's your loss, then."

"Mmm, I'll try to resign myself. When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow, likely. You said it yourself, it's very important for us to find this emissary as quickly as possible." Her glasses slipped from her hand and she swore under her breath.

He picked them up from where they'd fallen under the table and handed them back to her. "You know, have you ever thought about just using a sight spell?"

She shrugged. "I've got a few that work, and I can go without spectacles if I have to. But I'd prefer to leave my spell slots for things I _don't_ have a mundane fix for, and besides. I'd be in trouble if someone cast dispel on me while I was trying to get something done. If I was outside, I'd be almost blinded. And it _doesn't_ negate the 'odd and looks like a freak' effect, anyhow."

Sand just gave her a look. "That's cosmetic, and you know it. You're out in the wide world now, my dear, and there are many, _many_ odder sights than you and your eyes. They're not unattractive, and for anyone who knows what an aasimar is, there's no stigma as there would be with a tiefling. And look at Neeshka – _she_ has a tail and horns and doesn't feel she has to hide them."

Gwyn looked uncomfortable. "Weeeell… you might have a point, but still! That doesn't change the impracticality of keeping such spells on hand, especially when they don't even last all day."

"So find someone who can cast permanency. _I_ can, if you can get the right ingredients for me. Just say the word. If you had weak vision, that would be one thing - but just to shield your eyes from the sun? It shouldn't be an issue at all."

She opened her mouth to argue, then sighed and shut it again. After a bit, she nodded. "Fine, you've got a point. Let me know what you'll need, and I'll see if I can find it. But I don't want it done until _after_ I come back. I'd rather stick to tried-and-true while I'm out and anyway, I'm not sure I could find the ingredients in a day."

He nodded, jotting a list down onto a piece of foolscap and handing it to her. She read it, and grimaced – it was mostly eyeballs from various and sundry creatures. "I swear, this had better be topical. There's _no way_ I'm going to ingest this stuff." Tucking it into her robes, she sighed, and stood. "I suppose I should get back; we're starting bright and early in the morning, and while Elanee is an early riser, it's going to take me at least an hour to pull Neeshka out of bed."

Sand stood as well, walking her to the door. "Just be careful out there. We may not get much snow down here, but it's getting colder, and the terrain out there is rocky and mountainous. I doubt there will be any sort of post, but if you're going to be based out of the Greycloaks' camp and fortifications, you can always send a runner if you need anything."

Gwyn took a moment to settle her cloak, tucking Ayree up underneath, then turned to him. "Thanks. It's what, a week's journey? Two, if we have bad weather? Hopefully I'll be back within the month."

* * *

><p>As he counted off the eighth week since she'd left, he was beginning to feel edgy, worried, and to tell the truth, a bit lonely. He'd gone to the Flagon once or twice to take Duncan his purgative, but seeing that not only was Duncan <em>still<em> keeping Qara around, but _Bishop_ was also now visiting again, he saw no reason to linger. _There's more than enough Luskan slime in Neverwinter with Torio around without needing to deal with _Bishop, _too. Although if I had to pick between the two, at least Bishop's honest. Honestly going to rob or knife you, perhaps, but he doesn't cover it up_. _More than likely, he's there to try and make a meal out of Qara and _that _is something I can approve of. If anything, she's another Torio in the making_. Luckily, at least, he hadn't had to see the Luskan ambassador again, although from what Nevalle was saying she was certainly trying to make things difficult at court.

One rainy afternoon, he found himself in his lab, staring at his alchemy equipment with _no_ desire to concoct anything. He sighed, sitting down with a mug of tea, and patted Jaral as the cat jumped into the elf's lap. "It's odd what having friends will do once they're not around, isn't it?" His familiar mrowled in agreement, turning a circle before sitting down. "It's been a while since we really had any friends, hasn't it? At least, anyone who would come visit. And I must admit I never once felt bored when she was here."

He looked down. "And somehow, you and Ayree were able to make up, though I don't know what she sees in you." Jaral blinked up at him, and Sand raised an eyebrow. "_Really_? Well, that's… a bit of a surprise. Just… _really?_" He sighed. "_No_ _kittens_ yet, please. I think Gwyn would agree. And don't… go doing things… when we're around. That would just be awkward." Jaral hmphed at him, and the elf found himself feeling a little embarrassed. Sand himself hadn't had a lover in quite some time – since Torio, actually – and he hadn't even thought about the fact until then. _And yet now my familiar is going to go off and make a fool of himself. Just as long as I don't have to deal with it._

A few more minutes of sitting and trying-not-to-think-about-it, and Sand finally stood. "Well, it's been almost a week since I took Duncan his purgative, and it won't hurt to see if he's had news of his niece. I can put up with Qara for fifteen minutes – I don't _think_ she'll try to burn the place down in that amount of time, provided her day's gone well."

It was bitterly cold outside, and he had to pull his cloak collar around his ears to ward off some of the chill. It had been raining that afternoon, and he could tell by the smell that there was snow on the wind. Jaral tagged at his heels, complaining for about half a mile, but suddenly seemed to cheer up as they approached the Flagon, which set Sand's feet moving more quickly. _He must have heard from Ayree, which means they're in town, and-_

As he approached the Flagon, he stopped short, despite the cold, several paces out as a reedy, warbling voice came drifting from the partially open door –

"_Whitethistle, whitethistle, all in a row;_

_In Neverwinter woods, they a-all gro-ow-ow!"_

_What in Faerun? _He stepped up to the window before pushing the door open and saw that, indeed, Gwyn must have returned, for the room was full of people, some of whom he did not recognize. Neeshka was immediately identifiable, and – _hm, that song must be coming from that gnome standing on the table. Oh gods, he's a _bard_. Heavens help us all._

He scanned the room, and finally found Gwyn, sitting by the fire. He smiled involuntarily, but then raised an eyebrow as he noticed that she was talking to a man he could almost swear he recognized, but- _Odd. He's standing by her chair almost as if guarding her. Mmm, Bishop's in the room, so that's probably why. And by the clothes, he's a paladin. Joy. She's not only picked up a gnomish bard, but also a paladin – and by the looks of him, he's a Paladin to the toes. Why again was I waiting so much for this?_

* * *

><p>~<em>Six weeks before~<em>

Thanks to the rain, it had been a week and a half since Gwyn and her companions had left Neverwinter and they were just now coming to the woods which skirted the hills that hid Old Owl Well. They had seen neither hide nor hair of an ambassador from Waterdeep, and she was beginning to think that the shards might not _really_ be worth everything she was putting into them.

It was growing dusk, and she was about to call a halt – better to get a night's sleep in the woods than out in the open, since she didn't think they could make the Greycloak camp that night – when she stopped, stock still. She turned to Elanee. "All right, I have a cold, and my ears are stopped up – do _you_ hear singing, too?"

The druid nodded. "I do, and I have for a little while. I was thinking it might be faeries, but it sounds a bit too reedy for that." She pointed. "I think it's coming from that direction."

A few minutes later brought them into a clearing where a small, gaudily-dressed gnome was gamboling – for such was the only way to describe his dancing – around a fire, singing a nonsensical tune about Neverwinter Woods and 'wendersnaven'. She stood for a while, just _blinking_ at him, until he finally looked up. "Oh, my my! I have visitors!"

What followed was perhaps the oddest conversation Gwyn had ever been party to; even when she tried to tell Sand about it afterwards she found herself wondering if, just maybe, she'd dreamed it up in a fever. The little gnome – she did eventually get him to admit that his name was Grobnar Gnomehands – babbled on about _everything_. No topic was safe; he jumped from songs to words to wendersnaven – which were apparently small, invisible, all-knowing and all-seeing beings – to, of _all_ things, codpieces set with spring-loaded shields.

Gwyn was usually easily the master of her own speech, although sometimes she would get tongue-tied when particularly embarrassed – but she could only sit there, staring at him bemusedly, as he bustled around the campfire, helping Elanee set up the tents. He made tea and even cooked a dinner of sorts – although after his song about whitethistle she'd only touch it after she was given a nod from the druid – and two hours later was still babbling on. She looked around; Khelgar was asleep, Elanee, who was never one for long conversations, had wandered off, and Neeshka had already rifled through everything the gnome owned and was sitting there, listening as she sharpened her daggers.

The next thing Gwyn knew, she was blinking up at the mid-morning sun as it filtered through the tree leaves; when she sat up, Neeshka gave a little sigh of relief. "You go to sleep in the _oddest_ places – and you're too heavy to drag into the tent, although Grobnar certainly tried."

"I fell asleep?"

"Yeah. You just kinda toppled over, and all the little guy said was, 'dear me, I think she's sick.' He waved his hands a bit, poked at your shoulder – you _really _snore, you know – and then plopped down himself and went to sleep." She pointed over to where Grobnar was curled up in a small heap under his own blanket. "I never thought I'd say it but he's crazier than you are."

Gwyn ignored the last remark, then took an experimental sniff and realized that he'd cured her cold; add that to the fact that it _wasn't raining_ for the first time in nearly two weeks and she decided that it was, in fact, a Good Morning. An hour later saw them breakfasted, packed, and on the road, and it was only a half-hour after that she _finally_ got Grobnar to calm down and stop talking. He'd wanted to come along with them and she decided that it wouldn't hurt to have him, and besides, she owed him.

The Good Morning lasted until they got to the Greycloak camp. She was introduced, rather brusquely, to the commander in charge – a dwarf named Callum. He looked her and her party up and down, harrumphed a few times, and admitted that it had been a month since the emissary had been expected, but that they hadn't had the men to look for him, being besieged by orcs as they were.

"Which means, I assume, that he's likely been captured by one or other of the orc tribes, and that there's no hope of an escort of Greycloaks to help look for him?"

Callum snorted. "Well, at least they sent a sharp one, for all that you'd blow away in a sharp breeze."

"Ah, go light on the lass. She's not so bad in a fight, an' she's got a dwarf behind her, so."

Callum merely snorted again, looked at Khelgar, and then resumed speaking to Gwyn. "Last messages from the road have him leaving an inn just down the road, before you get into orc territory; no one's seen him since, though we've found a few poor sods that might have been his escort. I put money on Logram Eyegouger – head of the bigger of the two tribes – having him; it's just because Logram's so strong that the other tribe – Bonegnashers – haven't rebelled. That keeps them unified and striking against _us_ – although there's some madman out there conducting his _own_ raids on the orcs. Helm protect him, whoever he is. He might be mad, but he's keeping us from being overrun. If you see him, give him my thanks, and then a swift kick up the behind?"

They got a bit more of a briefing and then Gwyn saw no reason not to set out, since the camp itself was nowhere pleasant to linger. Reports put the closest orcs several hours back into the foothills; it was less than two, however, before they turned a corner and almost ran into a patrol. Bodily picking Grobnar up with a hand over his mouth, and with much gesturing and waving, Gwyn pushed a quick retreat back to a nearby copse.

Collapsing under the nearest tree, panting, she finally let Grobnar loose, and he shook his head. "But there aren't _supposed_ to be orcs this close to camp!"

"Bingo. I'm just glad they're so stupid, or there's no way we would have avoided their notice. Neeshka, aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye out?"

The tiefling grumbled. "I can't help it; I'm not _used_ to mountains! Give me a city any time."

Khelgar snorted. "These aren't _mountains_, goat-girl. There's rumours that the Ironfists once had a stronghold out this way, farther in – _those_ are mountains. In fact-"

Gwyn stood up. "Oh, come _on_. We don't have time to argue about topographical fallacies." She knelt at the edge of the copse, trying to spot the orcs; when she did, she sighed. "Well, they've still got their backs to us; it looks like they're keeping an eye out for-"

Just then, with a shout, a group of fifteen or twenty men and women poured down the hillside, led by a tall, dark-haired man in heavy plate. There were perhaps thirty orcs; Gwyn saw with a glance that they were well-armed, for orcs, and that the humans would only initially have the advantage. The orcs had begun to push them back when she signalled to her group and they fell in from behind.

Two ambushes proved to be too much for the patrol, and together the two groups finished them off. The last orc had just charged at Gwyn – _and _here's _the downfall to wearing robes, it makes me far too easy a target_ – and she was frantically trying to rattle off both a shield spell and a fireball at the same time, failing at both, when the leader of the rebel forces swept up behind him and with an overhand swing lopped the orc's head off.

She gaped, gasping in relief, and he dropped to one knee in front of her. "My lady, are you harmed?"

Gwyn blinked and Neeshka snickered from somewhere behind. "Uh, no – thank you. I would have been, I'm sure, if you hadn't saved me."

He stood, taking her hand, and bowed over it. "My name is Casavir, and I and my followers are at your service – and indeed, in your debt. I think this fight would have gone ill for us had you not shown up when you did." He turned to the woman standing at his side. "This is my captain, Katriona. She helps me lead the people you see behind me; there are a few more of us, but we are often needed at home and in the fields to protect what the orcs have not wasted."

Katriona gave a stiff nod, and Gwyn introduced herself and her fellows. "Are you, perhaps, the one I've heard referred to as 'Katalmach', the man who harries the orcs on their own grounds?"

Casavir – whom she was relatively sure was a paladin by the symbol of Tyr on his shield – flushed and frowned. "Names mean little in this time and place, and all that matter are the actions one takes."

_Mmm, definitely a paladin_. She nodded. "Apologies; I was merely asked by Callum to convey his thanks at your aid; by assaulting the orcs as you do, it keeps them from bearing down too hard on the Greycloak camp."

At the Commander's name, Casavir looked startled. "_Callum_ leads the Greycloaks here? I had no idea-..." he trailed off, and looked down at Gwyn for a long moment. "You seem to have business here, and perhaps we may be able to aid you. Will you come to our camp? It is poor, but still a better location to talk than _this_." He gestured to the dead orcs strewn about.

Katriona stepped up. "Casavir, are you _sure?_ They could be spies, or-"

The paladin looked at her. "Have faith, Katriona. I think they will be able to help us in our cause." She subsided, and Gwyn shot a look at Elanee. _Well, Katriona's got a thing for the paladin, and I dare say he's oblivious._ She said nothing, however, but let Casavir lead them through the rocky hills to a hidden set of bivouacs and rough huts.

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><p><em>As always, the characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree, who belong to me.<em>


	7. Joining Forces

_Sorry for the occasional delays in posting, but thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy! I promise Sand will be back in the next few chapters. If he wasn't such an indolent bastard, he'd've been able to come along; meanwhile, Cas gets to gather the brownie points Sand is missing out on._

_***Note*** Thanks to a consultation and a few rereads, I've reworked Yaisog's death as I do not think a paladin would simply slit anyone's throat. Hopefully this seems a bit truer to character._

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><p><em>Ch. 7: Joining Forces, in which Casavir first joins our group, and Gwyn finds that she can't do everything by herself.<em>

After a few words with Casavir, Gwyn set Elanee, Neeshka, Grobnar, and Khelgar to helping around the camp with a look at the tiefling which said 'if I catch your hands anywhere they shouldn't be there'll be hell to pay' and then followed the rebel leaders into the largest of the rough huts. There was just room for a wooden table with a surprisingly well-detailed map of the area spread out across the gapped planking. Gwyn raised an eyebrow. "That looks like something you'd find in the Archives. Even our maps at Watch headquarters weren't quite as good."

"You're with the Watch?" She nodded, and Casavir gave her another long look, then motioned for her and Katriona to sit. Gwyn did so and then wished she hadn't, for Katriona did not sit either, and Gwyn felt uncomfortably like she was being questioned by a pair of tutors - though she knew it wasn't Casavir's intention. His captain's, perhaps – but then, Gwyn was fairly sure she'd already reasoned _that_ one out.

The paladin began to pace. "If I may be so bold as to inquire, _why_ exactly is an elven mage assigned to the Neverwinter City Watch out in Old Owl Well without even a contingent of proper guards or soldiers?"

Gwyn sat back. "We were expecting an emissary from Waterdeep more than a month prior, and as his route was to lead him through this territory..." she trailed off, shrugging.

Casavir frowned. "And they sent a Watchman for this?"

"Well, I'm a lieutenant, but yes. I think they were expecting me to be able to get help from the Greycloak continent stationed at the Well. My last briefing was that the tribes were warring amongst themselves, not that they were bringing everything to bear upon our outpost here."

Casavir blinked as if he didn't expect this, then nodded. "My apologies, milady. If your emissary has gone missing here, he is either dead or captured by the orcs. If he is dead, may the gods have mercy on his soul; if he is alive, then it behooves us to tread carefully. If the orcs have captured him and have not killed him, it is likely they want him alive, and so we will be cautious."

Gwyn raised an eyebrow. "We?"

With a faint smile, the paladin nodded. "Your goals are worthy, and I believe that if we were to join forces we would be able to see to both your ends _and_ mine, for if we are to rescue this emissary we will need to take the battle to the orc strongholds themselves. My goal is to see this place reclaimed; I will go with you, if you will have me."

Before Gwyn could respond, Katriona stepped up. "How many men shall I assemble, Casavir?"

He shook his head. "None, Katriona. I want you to take all we have assembled and go to Callum at Old Owl Well. He is a good officer, a good man." She began to protest, but he held up a hand. "Our paths diverge here, I'm afraid. If I do not succeed, you will need the help of the Greycloaks to finish off what we leave behind. If we _do_ succeed, you will need their help to rebuild." Katriona looked _very_ unhappy at this – Gwyn felt sorry for her, but knew that her sympathy would not be welcomed – but slowly nodded, then left the tent. Casavir turned back to Gwyn, who'd gotten to her feet.

"Well, if you're determined I can certainly use your help – although with my motley band you might have been better off with your own men. But I'll defer to your judgement; Callum thinks our emissary is likely in the hands of Logram Eyegouger – shall we go straight there?"

With a pensive mien, Casavir looked down at the map for a few moments, then shook his head. "No, I think... here." He pointed. "This is the stronghold for the other orc clan, led by Yaisog Bonegnasher. At one time they _were_ at war with each other, but Logram seems to have gained quite a bit of power, which has caused the other clan to kneel to him, and together they have been harrying the people here. Let us start with the Bonegnashers, for they are the weaker group, and we will possibly learn about your emissary while also weakening Logram's forces and leaving less for him to draw upon."

"Then we shall follow your lead." Gwyn nodded to him, then stepped outside and whistled shrilly to gather her errants.

* * *

><p>"You-" cough "-are strong for a cursed <em>elf, <em>one who hides behind spells_._"

Narrowing her eyes, Gwyn looked down at the leader of the Bonegnasher tribe, who lay on the ground with Casavir's sword at his throat and Khelgar's boot on his chest. "All I need from you is the location of your master, Logram Eyegouger."

The orc barked a laugh. "Deep in the mountains, far to the south; you will _die_ if you go there."

"Hah! You piddling orcs couldn't kill us if you tried – as we proved, aye?" Gwyn shot Khelgar a look, shaking her head, then turned her focus back to Yaisog.

"That is none of your concern. Where is Logram's lair?"

She recognized the scheming light that sprang into the orc's eyes almost immediately. "A day south, and hidden – but _I_ know the way. _I_ am Logram's right-hand. You release me, I lead you there."

Not looking at any of her companions, Gwyn shook her head. "You've done too much to the people who live here – I will not let that continue. And if you _are _Logram's 'right-hand', I will be far better served to sever the hand than let it return to its owner. I have a direction, and that is all I need." She looked up at Casavir. "Will you?"

The paladin shook his head, then looked to Khelgar. "Let him up and give him a weapon; I will finish him, but not like this."

"Are you mad?" The dwarf looked at him. "Y'want me to let him _up_? I'll just cave his skull in, if ya need it."

Gwyn sighed, but stepped forward, with Yaisog's axe in his hand. "No, Khelgar. This is Casavir's battle." The dwarf took the axe, and once Gwyn was clear, let Yaisog stand, handing the weapon to him.

Taking the axe, Yaisog turned to Khelgar and spit on the ground. "You are all _fools_." He hefted his weapon over his shoulder, then turned and started to run for the cavern mouth; Gwyn cursed and started to summon up a fireball, but before she could the orc let out a scream, falling to the floor with a grunt as a feathered shaft seemed to sprout from his back.

Turning to look, she blinked as she saw Grobnar standing there, his bow in his hand. He shrugged. "I've noticed that orcs never take well to honourable duels."

Shaking her head, she turned and saw Casavir kneeling beside the orc's body, and raised an eyebrow. "Prayer?"

Casavir stood. "We have avenged many of the victims of this pointless battle, but a tally twice as large lies at Logram's feet. All I can do is commend these fallen souls to Tyr."

Just then, Neeshka – who'd been largely ignoring the goings-on with Yaisog and instead was focusing on exploring the back of the large cavern – gave a yell. "I found a door! I hope it leads out of here, I don't want to trudge back through this hell-hole."

"That's rich, comin' from a goat-girl with the devil's own blood," Khelgar mumbled, as the rest of the group moved to join the rogue, deftly probing the lock with a pick.

"Oh, shut up, stumpy," she said, her head on one side as she concentrated. "Just one more turn and -" With a click the door swung open and she pocketed her tools with a smirk of pride. Her face fell, however, when a dead end with two other doors on either side was revealed. "Of all the – _dammit_. One of those had better lead to gold or fresh air."

"I thought you hated fresh air," Elanee said with her own smirk. Neeshka rolled her eyes, but any rebuttal was cut short as the left-hand door rattled.

"Hello? Hello? Are you here to rescue me?"

Gwyn and Neeshka looked at one another and the tiefling ran forward to work on the second lock while Gwyn tried to peer into the bars on the door; unfortunately she was a little too short, but before she could fume too badly Casavir stepped up, putting a mailed hand gently on her shoulder. "Identify yourself; are you friend or foe?"

"I'm- I don't know! Are _you_ friend or foe? I'm an important man, and if you can free me from here, you'll have the gratitude of all of Waterdeep!"

Gwyn's head shot up and she and Casavir both looked at one another, confused. "Emissary Issani?" she asked in an incredulous tone. _It _can't_ be this easy!_

"Yes! That's my name!"

"You know, he hesitated for a moment there," Neeshka muttered as the lock finally fell open. "And this lock was pretty easy for someone so important."

"He could be hurt," Casavir said quietly, then noticed that his hand was still on Gwyn's shoulder; he removed it quickly with a flush and reached forward to push the door open. A tall, sparse man – bruised and _very_ hungry-looking – with a pinched face nearly tripped over them, he was so close to the door. "Watch out- here," the paladin said, taking the man's arm to keep him from falling onto Gwyn. "Let me look at you."

* * *

><p>A quarter of an hour later Elanee had retrieved Issani's belongings from a chest in the main room, and Casavir had healed the man's wounds while he shoveled travelling rations – cheerfully handed to him by Grobar – down his throat. Gwyn had gotten a bit of his story from him – apparently he, his assistant, and their guards had been set upon shortly after they'd gotten into the foothills, and all but he had been slain. "Obviously they could tell how important I was, so they must be keeping me for ransom. Is that why you're here?"<p>

Gwyn shook her head. "I'm with the Neverwinter Watch, and I was sent for you, but no one has heard anything about ransom."

Issani shrugged. "No matter. At least now you can take me back to Neverwinter; let's go." He stood, quickly.

Nodding slowly, Gwyn watched him gather his things, and then the group left the caves; the door opposite the emissary's cell had, as Neeshka had hoped, lead rather directly to the surface. When they stepped outside, night was just beginning to fall, and Gwyn sighed. "We're not going anywhere right now, not with the number of orc patrols that wander these mountains." She looked at Casavir, who nodded, then continued. "Let's find a place to set camp – preferably in a nook somewhere so we only have to keep watch from one direction. Elanee?"

The druid found them a dry spot with at least a minimal amount of short and stunted trees and bushes to provide cover and fuel for a fire; they prepared a small supper and then Gwyn sat back. "Watch. Who takes-"

"I will take first watch," Casavir said, quietly.

Gwyn nodded. "All right. Wake Elanee or I when you're done, then; we need only to rest a few hours."

She wrapped herself up in her blanket; it was almost too thin for the cool night, but a quickly muttered cantrip warmed the entire campsite - _one of the reasons Neeshka still sticks around, I'm sure - _and she soon settled down.

_So much for it being a Good Morning. I swear today has been good, bad, awful, and everything in between. If he really _is_ Issani, then this has been one easy trip, but Neeshka had a point. Several points. Something seems off._ She sighed, rolling over, and Casavir turned; their eyes met for a moment and he nodded at her, then turned his gaze back to the edge of camp. _I guess I'll just have to trust that it'll settle itself; I'm sure someone in town knows Issani._

_But I can't just leave yet, can I? I may not have _promised_ to aid in removing Logram, but with all Casavir has done for us – just today – I can't abandon him. Hopefully he'll not mind us detouring to Old Owl Well; the emissary will be safe there, and things should have quieted down enough that they can send guards with him back to Neverwinter. _She looked up at the paladin's back, tall enough already so that the shadow cast by the fire was very long. _I feel much safer with him here. Something's up, he obviously has a _history_, but then, so do we all. He's quiet and polite, which is definitely new around_ _here. I wonder what his plans are after this is all done?_

She lapsed into a reverie after that, but it seemed much sooner than four or five hours before she felt herself shaken into consciousness. "Casa-" she started to ask, blinking groggily; she could not even finish the word before a hand was clapped over her mouth and she felt the prick of a dagger against her throat. As her eyes adjusted to the dark – her assailant was between her and the fire and there was no moon, which was a drawback to dark glasses – she recognized the figure of the emissary, an avaricious gleam in his eyes. Ayree – who'd jerked awake at the same time as Gwyn – began to slink forward but Gwyn gave a split-second, terse order ~_Stay _down, _don't let him see you!~ _The cat dropped to the blankets, frozen.

"Such a goody-group of people, it'll be your death, you know." The emissary slowly took his hand from her mouth, but with the dagger against her skin she did not dare to yell, and she knew that if she even tried to get off a spell – she had yet to learn to cast quietly – he'd likely slit her throat.

_Between Casavir, Khelgar, and Ayree, he wouldn't get away with it, but I'd rather _not_ die in order to catch this bastard._ She swallowed. "Issani?" She whispered.

"Hah! You were the one who called me that first; I wouldn't have even thought to present myself as him if you hadn't. No, that fool is likely dead, and good riddance; a greater absent-minded numbskull I've never met. I never wanted to be sent out here as his assistant, and as soon as you give me everything of value you have I'll be long gone from this accursed place." As he said this, her eyes darted over to where Casavir had been standing; he was now seated towards the fire, his head slumped against his chest, and fear gripped her heart. The fake emissary grinned. "That paladin of yours is worthless, isn't he? Not an hour into his watch – once he was sure you all were asleep – he sat down and dozed off himself."

Just then, she saw Casavir raise his head, his eyes already focused on 'Issani', and before she could react he'd flowed into a crouching position behind the man, and as the ruffian felt the cold steel of the paladin's sword against his own throat, he froze.

"Unhand her, _now_." Casavir's voice rang out and immediately the pressure was gone from her throat as the dagger fell away; the man slowly began to turn, bringing his hand – with the dagger – up to where the paladin could see it. Casavir put out his other hand to take the blade; however, Gwyn could see the faux emissary's _other_ hand from where she lay, and she saw that he was carefully, but quickly, reaching for the second dagger at his hip.

She only had a split second to make up her mind, and she reached behind for her own dirk, beneath her pillow. She had barely a chance to cry out, "Casavir, _beware!_" before the other man got his hand on his second dagger; he pulled it and was lunging for the paladin as she sprang forward, burying her own blade in his back.

'Issani' froze, gurgling in surprise, then staggered, and finally slumped forward. Everything afterwards seemed to happen in slow-motion; he fell face-first against the ground as Gwyn dropped her dagger, falling back to her blankets. It wasn't that she'd just killed him – she'd killed plenty of men since leaving West Harbour, and it wasn't the first time someone had threatened her life. But it _was_ the first time they'd been so _close_ to succeeding; she still felt the cold prick of his dagger against her skin.

Gwyn was barely back on the ground before Casavir was at her side, his arm around her shoulders. "My lady, are you hurt?" She shook her head, but found herself trembling violently. Ayree – who'd been huddled at the foot of the bedroll, where Gwyn had ordered her to stay – darted forward, curling up in her mistress's lap. By then the whole camp had roused, and Casavir turned to Grobnar, who was closest. "Water?"

The gnome ran for the waterskin, and by the time Gwyn was done taking a long drink, Khelgar had the body dragged away to distract predators, and she soon found her pulse calming. Looking up at Casavir – whose face was disconcertingly close, his anxious blue eyes watching her with concern – she nodded. "Thank you. I think – I think I'm fine." She paused. "Were you really asleep?"

He shook his head. "I sat to pray once the camp was quiet, but I am usually _more_ aware then. I noticed him watching me, and soon pretended to sleep so that I could see what his goal was. Had I known-" he cut off with a frown and a shake of his head. "If anything had happened, it would have been my fault. Forgive me, lady."

Gwyn shook her head, drawing her blanket over her arms, and he slowly withdrew his arm, standing once he was sure she would not collapse. "You were the most aware of all of us, so please don't chastise yourself, Casavir. Now, I think we should all rest, and it's time for another to take your place."

She began to push her blanket back down, but Elanee stood. "I'll watch. You should sleep."

With a nod of thanks, Gwyn lay back down, glad to have a chance to rest. As she closed her eyes she could still feel Casavir's presence nearby; however, although she could still see his blue eyes in her mind's eye, her last thoughts before sleep were of a pair of grey-blue eyes she hadn't seen in weeks.

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><p><em>All characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree, who belong to me.<em>


	8. Orcs and Shadow Priests

_I will be changing things up occasionally; yes, conversations may not go quite as they were in the game, sometimes things will happen out of order. I know the limitations Bioware had to work with when the game was released, so I will be arranging things to suit my story. If you do notice any blatant inaccuracies, however, please let me know!_

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><p><em>Ch. 8, Orcs and Shadow Priests - in which the endeavours in Old Owl Well draw to a close and our heroine has a chance to examine her feelings.<em>

It was barely dawn when Ayree woke Gwyn, yowling as she stood on her mistress's chest. Starting up, Gwyn rubbed her eyes, then blinked up at the leaden sky and realized _why_ her familiar was trying to wake her – they were perhaps a quarter of an hour, and certainly no more, away from rain – a downpour, if she could read the skies aright.

As Gwyn tugged on Neeshka's blanket, she and Elanee both roused the rest of the camp as quickly as they could, and everyone worked together – albeit with much grumbling from certain parties – to pack their things and gather what firewood and brush they could. Once assembled, the group headed towards a nearby cave – more of an overhang – that Elanee had found the night before as a potential secondary camp. Khelgar – the last of the group, carrying his load of firewood – had just cleared the opening when the skies opened up with a crack and a rumble and the deluge of rain began.

Gwyn shivered. "Damnable _rain_! Is it always so bad this time of year, or is my luck really just this rotten?"

Casavir turned to respond, but before he could say anything a voice came from the back of the shelter. "Oh, it does this a fair bit; it'll rain for days on end and then be sunny for weeks. You're in luck, though; I don't think this squall'll even last all day – and if I'm wrong, it'll last for two at the most."

It sounded like a mellower Grobnar, and Gwyn turned quickly to see another gnome, older, with a kind face step out of a back corner. He bowed as she gave a curtsey. "Please excuse us, we didn't know that anyone was sheltering here, but as you can see we were ourselves trying to get out of the rain. We have firewood and food; might we offer breakfast in return for sharing your camp?"

The gnome smiled, waving a hand dismissively as she apologized. "Oh, don't mind yourself; the road is open to all. But if you offer a cup of tea I would be glad to take it." She nodded to Khelgar and Grobnar, who began to set up the fire and within a few minutes the tin kettle was boiling.

Sitting beside the fire, their host sighed happily as he took his mug. "My name's Guyven, and I'm a traveller. I've been travelling for many a year, and I've seen many a thing – some wonderful, some frightening, and some to make your blood boil or your heart freeze. I can tell you a bit about this area, if you'd like?

"We're actually looking for the lair of Logram Eyegouger. You wouldn't happen to know where it is, would you?"

"Wouldn't I? It just so happens that I stumbled in there once, not too long ago. The sentries merely laughed at me, however, and called me a rat, and chased me out – not a nice group of fellows, not at all."

Gwyn brightened and looked at Casavir, who took a roll of oilskin from his bags and carefully brought out his map. Leaning over it before the fire, Guyven pointed at a location perhaps a day's walk from where they were, and a little less than a day's walk from Old Owl Well. "Such a pity this place has been overrun with orcs. There used to be dwarves here, you know," he said, nodding to Khelgar.

"Aye, my clan, the Ironfists! But the old halls are lost, though we've been tryin' to find 'em for many a year."

Guyven snorted. "Lost only because you don't know where to look. I've been there a few times, but never found hide nor hair of a dwarf who was interested in knowing where it was."

Khelgar gave an exclamation and leaned over to look at the map, where Guyven was pointing at a location deeper into the mountains. "Not want to know? Of course I do!" He and the gnome – with Grobnar sitting in between, interjecting as often as he could – began to talk about the 'bygone glory of the dwarves" and Gwyn smiled, taking her mug and moving back towards the entrance.

She sat down to watch the rain, and shortly after, Casavir joined her. "Your friend seems very excited."

Gwyn chuckled. "He is, at that. His biggest wish might be to become a monk of Tyr-" Casavir blinked, and laughed ever so faintly, and she shook her head. "I'm not joking. But while that may be his _greatest_ wish, his heritage means a lot to him and I think if he could find this place it would be very important to him." She paused. "But don't worry, I'll make sure we take care of Logram first, and the safety of the _real_ emissary is my first priority."

Casavir stared out at the rain for a while, silent, and then spoke. "You're very conscientious. That's a rare trait to find, these days."

Flushing lightly, Gwyn shrugged. "I just have a job to do, and my own goals at the end of it."

"That is not precisely true – your actions show that you are thoughtful and kind, even if you are doing this for your own means. We all-" he broke off for a moment, but then continued. "We all have our reasons for doing even the most charitable of deeds."

Tilting her head, she looked up at him. "That sounds like a personal issue, to me."

"It is, but it's nothing I should worry you about. Will you tell me what your goals are that escorting an emissary to Neverwinter will help you achieve them?"

Gwyn looked back out at the rain, but as the paladin began to apologize she shook her head, and then motioned for him to sit. He did so, although she could tell he was doing his best to not sit _too_ terribly close – _chivalry, or wariness?_ – and she reached into her robes, pulling out the silken bundle which held her two shards. In a few minutes she'd told him the story, starting with the attack on her home in West Harbour, all the way up to the work she'd done for the Watch in hopes of getting to someone who could tell her more. The only things she left out were Sand's own little secrets, but even then she must have spoken of him more than she'd thought for when she finished, Casavir gave her a questioning glance.

"This wizard friend of yours seems to be as learned as this sage you wish to seek – can he not tell you anything?"

A new thought came to her, then. _Sand _is_ older than Aldanon by far – Aldanon is a man, from all accounts, and although he is aged, that cannot make him more than perhaps one hundred years. Sand is what, two hundred and...? _Ayree filled in the gap. _Aye, two hundred and eleven. Is it foolish to wonder if perhaps he knows more about these than he has previously said?_

Ayree did her best to help quell this thought, and after a moment Gwyn shook her head, although she still felt faintly uneasy. "Aldanon has spent his life studying the history of Neverwinter, from everything I have heard. Sand's loves are alchemy and arcane knowledge, so he may be able to give me information once I have identified the shards, but I do not think he will be of much help in learning their history. He _is _the one who helped me identify my assailants as somehow related to the githyanki, however."

Casavir watched her for another moment, then nodded. "It is well you have a friend you can trust, then." He turned back to the rain. "I have little love for Neverwinter, for I served her once, but grew disillusioned with the preference that was given to state and status above the plight of the common man – as with here, at Old Owl Well, for instance." He was silent for another few moments, then shook his head. "Well, perhaps not everything in Neverwinter is wholly bad." He stood abruptly, turning away and Gwyn looked puzzled – _it sounds as if he wants to say more but... I won't push._

Just then Khelgar came rushing over, the map in his hand. Gwyn saw with alarm that it was quickly becoming crinkled, so she stood, deftly taking it and disentangling it before it could be harmed. The dwarf merely laughed. "Look at this, just look! We're but a few days away from the old Ironfist stronghold!"

Casavir walked over, and Gwyn handed him the map. He poured over it for a while as Gwyn and Khelgar debated logistics; Gwyn had just finally convinced Khelgar that they wouldn't be able to get to the area Guyven had told them about _and_ handle the emissary at the same time when the paladin spoke up, shaking his head. "No, look here."

The elf and dwarf looked to where Casavir pointed, and lo, they saw what looked like a small pass leading west from the mountains where the stronghold was purportedly located. It turned north and actually intersected the road to Neverwinter closer to the city than if they were to take the road from Old Owl Well. Gwyn hrmed, but looked skeptical. "How are we to know if that's even still there? It could be a smudge, or long since abandoned, filled in, caved in, or washed out."

Casavir shook his head. "This map is relatively recent. They wouldn't have it on here if it wasn't verified. If we do find your emissary with Logram – as I suspect we will – and they have the men to send him back to Neverwinter, it would not be far out of the way to return via this location."

Gwyn looked at the map again for a time, then nodded to Khelgar, who gave a whoop. "That's the ticket! If we can find this, my people will rebuild it. Keros won't be able to call me a deserter and a good-for-nothin' any longer!" He turned back to the rest of the party, who'd fractured into smaller groups throughout the cave. "Right, then, what are we waiting for? Pack it up, move it out!"

Looking out of the cave, Gwyn saw that it had, indeed, stopped raining. "Well, he's got a point. There aren't any assurances that we'll have dry spells that will last for any sensible length of time, so we should travel while we can. Elanee, help Neeshka find a path not made dangerous by the rain, please?" She turned to Guyven and bowed again. "I'm sorry we're leaving in such a hurry, and we appreciate your sharing your shelter-"

The gnome waved a hand again. "No matter, no matter. Guyven understands it when the road calls. If you find yourself anywhere interesting, just remember old Guyven; I've either been there, or I'll go some day. And if the road intends, we'll meet again."

* * *

><p>It took them the better part of the day to reach the valley where Logram's cave was situated. A few times, Elanee had to find secondary paths for them, around rockslides or places too wet to pass through; they were finally within sight of the cave as sundown came. Gwyn called a halt, and they set camp in a ravine; the night passed the way the previous one <em>should<em> have, and she felt much more rested in the morning.

It did not take any especial effort for them to make their way through the winding caves; they were far larger than the ones in which the Bonegnashers had made their home, and the orcs were stronger, but Casavir was an excellent tactician and they were able to pass through with relative ease. Close to the entrance they found a den of frightened and wounded wolves; Elanee was able to calm them, however, and after standing with the beasts for a while, she returned to the group.

"They say there aren't _only_ orcs here. The leader is on the second level, but there is a third, lower still, that makes them uneasy. They say that it reeks of death and blood, but sickly blood, not healthy, nourishing food. There are humans there, but only one smells hale; the others are blotted, and there is more down there – they say _other_, but I cannot make out what they mean by it."

Gwyn nodded. "Let them know that the path out is clear, and that they should leave while they can. The terrain here is not precisely accommodating, but we can spare some healing for the wounded ones and we are close enough to Neverwinter Woods if they head north. They can go through worse terrain than we can."

Elanee nodded. "Thank you, you are very understanding." Casavir also nodded to Gwyn, with a faint smile, but she did not return it.

"I hope the 'hale' human they sense is Issani, but the other information alarms me."

The paladin nodded. "It's not just me, then? We may need to prepare ourselves for unliving, or even necromancy."

Gwyn nodded, but smiled slightly. "You _are_ a paladin, so I think we will perhaps have the upper hand, if that is the case." Instead of returning the smile, however, Casavir looked serious and gave a formal half-bow.

"I will always endeavour to fulfill your expectations, my lady."

Gwyn felt a little uncomfortable at this, but she smiled again to hide the unease. "Don't be so formal, Casavir. And I have a name – Gwyn. 'My lady' makes me feel very old, very antiquated, or very noble – and I'm none of the above."

The paladin shook his head. "My lady is merely a sign of respect."

She sighed. "I'll start calling you Cas, if you're not careful."

"If that is easier, then by all means, my lady."

_Oh, Mystra._

* * *

><p>Finding Logram took them perhaps another hour, but it was alarming how easily he fell – although, unlike Yaisog, he did not beg for mercy, did not plead, but laughed at them when they approached, defied any diplomatic overtures Gwyn might have been tempted to offer, and attacked. Even as he died, he laughed at her, assuring her that she and hers would not leave the caves alive. When the room had been cleared, she turned to Casavir and Khelgar.<p>

"Am I mistaken, or did he not seem any more powerful than Yaisog? I cannot see how this creature-" she gestured to the fallen leader "-was able to keep the other orcs in check. There were no advanced weapons, nothing to give the Eyegougers an edge over the Bonegnashers. A few more troops, perhaps, and a larger cave, but nothing that the other tribe could not overcome."

"Perhaps the answers lie on the lower level." Casavir sheathed his sword, looking around for an exit that might lead further underground. Spotting a tunnel, he began to walk towards it.

Gwyn followed, dusting off her robes. "Somehow, I was afraid you'd say that."

"Ach, it'll be fun, lass!"

_I wonder if I can convince the temple to _keep _Khelgar if they ever do take him in for training?_

* * *

><p>The tunnel sloped downwards at a steep angle and they were still descending when the stench of rot and decay began to fill the passage. Elanee immediately began to look green, and Gwyn quickly muttered a cantrip to clear <em>some <em>of the air around them. Everyone crowded close, and when they stepped into the chamber which opened up as the ground levelled out, there were more than a few gasps of dismay. Gwyn put her hand up to her mouth, muttering, "Oh sweet Mystra."

The entire chamber was filled with bodies in various states of decomposition; closer to the door they were fresh, seeming but a few days old at most. In the far back of the chamber the piles were too gruesome to look upon, and Gwyn had to brace herself to keep from getting sick. She'd been in tombs before, and dealt with undead – ghasts and skeletons – but tombs were the natural place for dead bodies. _This is a massacre, this is not a tomb! These people must be the farmers and other locals whom the orcs have been attacking, but who would do this? Logram was certainly no necromancer._

Her suspicions were verified when Casavir shook his head, looking very, very angry. "I knew these men and women – they served under my command. This is wrong, this is _unholy!_" He took a deep breath, his voice showing more emotion than Gwyn had seen from him yet. She put her hand on his arm.

"They deserve better than this, I know. We will be sure they receive proper rites, but we _must_ find out who is behind this, first."

"You are right, of course." He gave her a look that was more than grateful, and she found herself blushing as she looked away. There was no time to interpret it, however; as they drew closer to the older piles of bodies she saw movement, and pointed.

Several ghasts rose from the corpses, and although the group had Casavir to drive the things back, everyone was feeling nauseated and slightly faint by the time they had re-dispatched the creatures. Out of the corner of her eye, Gwyn saw an area at the far back of the cave – away from the bodies – that seemed to be a workshop of some sort. Although a little uneasy over what they might find, she still called for a retreat so that everyone could catch their breath and rest up.

It _was_ a workshop, looking like a rudimentary version of the one Sand had, although not nearly as modern or efficient. She found a worn, leather-bound notebook on one of the shelves, but before she could leaf through more than a page or two the ground shook ever so slightly as a portion of the back wall began to slide open and a man, all in black, stepped out.

Immediately, Casavir stepped between Gwyn and the newly-opened door, murmuring over his shoulder. "This is the 'other' to which those wolves referred, I think."

The being – masked, but somehow still radiating an air of malevolent amusement – turned towards them. "Do not bother to protect her, paladin. You could not protect these who lie here dead, and they will, instead, be used for our army. My lord is more than happy with our progress and you will _not_ interfere, elf, as you did at Fort Locke, or Highcliff. I will remove you and yours, and my master will be even _more_ pleased, I think. You will make suitable officers the army he is building."

Gwyn gasped and realized why this being looked so familiar – he wore the same robes and mask as the shadow priests she had faced before, both when rescuing Commander Tann at Fort Locke, and trying to get through to the lizardfolk at Highcliff. The thought only had a split second to go through her mind, however, before Casavir answered the man with shouted words, his sword held high, and a blast of light that sent the priest staggering.

As the priest regained his footing he gave a cry and two acolytes – mages in dark robes – came running out of the back room, but Khelgar had already launched himself at him. Together, Khelgar and Casavir held him off, while Gwyn turned to face the mages; both were weak, sycophantic lackeys and she had no problems in felling them both with several well-aimed fireballs. Neeshka darted in once they'd fallen to finish them off.

Gwyn turned just in time to see Casavir's blade, shining white, sink into the priest's chest. The being screamed, writhing, and Casavir shouted something again. The light flared – Gwyn was blinded even through her dark glasses – and there was another shriek, accompanied by a sudden stench that was gone almost before it could be identified. Muttering one of the sight spells she always kept at hand, she was just able to clear her vision in time to see the last of the priest – robes and all – dissolve into nothingness as the paladin fell back. He dropped to one knee as Gwyn stepped up next to him.

After he finished his prayer, he looked up, and there was sorrow in his eyes. "There was nothing left here of the man who once was. This was but a shell of evil, holding a dark malevolence."

She nodded, offering a hand to help him rise. "Do you sense anything else here?"

His gaze shifted, as if he were concentrating on a far-off sound, and after a few moments he shook his head. "No. I cannot tell if there are any living beings left down here, but there is no more of… this." He gestured to the scattered remains, and the dead acolytes.

She nodded. "Go, see to your fallen men. Give them the rites they deserve, and we others will search these back rooms for Issani, or any signs of him."

Casavir gave her another of those odd, grateful looks, but then turned and walked towards the dead. Gwyn and the rest of the party scoured the back rooms, and in a far corner they found a man imprisoned in a very small cell. He was in much worse shape than the false emissary they had released days before, and when Gwyn opened the cell door, he could only look at them in fear, and eventually relief as he realized they were not his prior jailors come to torture him.

"My name is Issani, and you _must_ help me! I have an important duty – I _must_ get to Neverwinter City, for they expect me. If I do not, I fear they will think that Waterdeep has failed them. Please, can you at least lead me out of this cave?"

Gwyn put a hand on his shoulder, moving aside as Casavir came in to check the man's health. "Don't worry, Issani. My name is Gwyndeth Farlong and I'm with the Neverwinter City Watch; I've been sent to find you and ensure that you arrive at the city safely."

Issani – she was becoming more and more certain that he _was_ the real emissary – relaxed and his shoulders sagged with relief. "Oh, thank Tymora." He gave her his story, which was the same that they'd heard from the false emissary, as Casavir healed his many wounds. He then handed her a sheaf of papers which proved that he was, indeed, Issani of Waterdeep.

They left the caves as quickly as they could, and although it was still afternoon Gwyn called a halt. "We've all but eliminated the source of the orc patrols here, and I think it's better if we all rest; I think everyone – not just Issani – will be better off for it. We can make the Well tomorrow if we start early and push hard."

* * *

><p>She was writing in her spellbook – which she also used as a journal – that evening when Casavir came to sit on the log next to hers, before the fire. It was bitterly cold by now, and even with her temperature spell she found it more comfortable to sit within the flickering ring of light and warmth. "Recording your thoughts?"<p>

Gwyn looked, up, blinking, and shook her head. "Trying to remember everything I can about the shadow priests we ran into at Highcliff and Fort Locke. I'd heard one of them mention the King of Shadows then, but at the time I thought it was merely a cult thing. I know that there are still idiots that seek 'his return' – but then, there are idiots _everywhere_." She sighed. _I sound like Sand, don't I? _Ayree chirped at her. _Mystra, I miss him_. "Now, though, I'm not sure. This one even admitted that they were connected, and the fact that they worship a being who was destroyed in the battle that produced these shards seems far too coincidental."

Casavir nodded, looking at the fire. "My lady-"

She cut him off. "Yes, Cas?" she asked, sweetly.

He blinked at her, then laughed faintly, and nodded. "As you will, Gwyndeth. But to my point – I would ask that you allow me to accompany you on this quest of yours. It seems a just cause – especially if it is related to the King of Shadows – and I think that from here it will only get more difficult."

Wincing a little at this – _I don't want him fixating on me as some damsel in distress, after all – _she looked at him. "I'm going back to Neverwinter after this, Cas. You yourself admitted how much you hate the city. My journey may take me elsewhere, but it may not be for some time."

His gaze was resolute, his expression unreadable. "As I said before, I think there may be some things in Neverwinter that are good after all. And I would follow this no matter where it led, if you will allow me."

Biting her lip, she finally nodded. _I've let everyone else come along, after all. Even Grobnar seems to have just… _adopted _us. _She pushed the thought into the back her mind and extended a hand, which he took, obviously considered bowing over, but then gingerly shook. "As long as you don't mind poor food, lots of bickering, but comfortable accommodations, you'll be welcome to stay with us at the Flagon if you've nowhere else to go."

Behind her, Khelgar whooped again. "The more the merrier – and the more for bigger fights!"

* * *

><p>That night, she lay in her bedroll for a long while before sleep found her. Bringing her thoughts from earlier back out, she tried to examine <em>why<em> she was reluctant to have Casavir accompany them.

_He's a wonderful man; kind, caring, and considerate. Perhaps a bit closed, but again, we all have a past of some sort or another – look at Sand. _She sighed, rolling over. _But t__hat's exactly the problem. Look at Sand – I haven't seen him in over a month and I miss him, but then I was already missing him days after I'd left. He treats me like an equal, just another friend, but I truly enjoy his company. _

_Cas _is _wonderful. He's handsome, too – but I don't _want _to be treated like a china doll. I don't mind having someone protect me – I'm _not _a front-line fighter, after all – but with Cas it seems like so much more. I have a feeling that he gravitates to those in need, and he sees me as someone who needs him. That's what those warm looks were about, I think. He's created a me in his mind that is not quite the me in front of him, and is using it as a cause, something to devote himself to._

_If I'm not careful that will turn into the sort of admiration that he may mistake for love._

_Katriona, after all, seemed to be a good woman. She seemed to be _just _as good-hearted as I am, but their relationship was simply one of comrades, and I wonder if it is not because he did not see the need to protect her. She and he have much of the same relationship that I have with Sand – and she loves him, I can tell. I think they would be very well-suited to one another. _A thought came unbidden into her mind. _If Katriona loves Cas, and he falls in love with me, then wouldn't it just complete the whole, messed-up square if Sand were to meet _her _and fall in love? _

She'd started to roll over again, but at this thought, she froze. _Oh Mystra. That's just _it_, isn't it? I've fallen in love with – _argh! _Of all the stupid things! _She pressed her fingers to her eyes to forestall any tears. _How in creation could I have been so stupid as to fall in love with Sand? Even if I hadn't his _many _comments to tell me how he feels, he's a million years older than I am!_

Ayree's thoughts came into her mind then and Gwyn sniffed at her. ~_I don't care if we're both elves and age doesn't matter. You and Jaral may have cozied up, but I'm not an idiot. I know the way the wind blows. Be happy with your own relationship and don't try to stir one up for me, it'll _just _cause trouble.~ _

_Besides, I don't know where the shards will lead me, or even if I'll survive it. And I know there's no way he'll travel with us, so our friendship is likely doomed to stay at a distance, anyhow._

The thought of everything else that was going on in Neverwinter at that time then came to her, and she set her lips. _But I_ can _say one thing. If this Torio Claven decides she has it out for Sand, she'll have to come through me. I _won't _let her touch him._

* * *

><p><em>The characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree, who belong to me.<em>


	9. Wizard, Meet Paladin

_I've had a lot of hits and favourites over the past week - thank you so much! I'm glad things are picking up and that people are enjoying this. It's going to be a long ride, and I hope you enjoy it!_

_It may be a bit before the next chapter; I'm going to want to replay some of the game to make sure I have all of my ducks in a row. I promise I'll update as soon as I can, however._

* * *

><p><em>Ch. 9, Wizard, Meet Paladin - In which our heroine returns, and the hero finds more than one thing to disorder his thoughts.<em>

Gwyn was glad to take second watch when Casavir woke her, for her dreams were disordered and disturbing. She sat for a time, staring at the fire, trying to reorganize her thoughts. As for keeping her feelings for Sand hidden, well – it would not be as hard as perhaps it sounded. She'd known from a young age that her foster father cared nothing for her, but she'd also known that to show how badly that fact hurt her would only cause things to be more uncomfortable. She loved him, in her own way – he was the only family she'd known, for although Bevil's mother, Retta, had stepped into a mother's role many times, it wasn't the Starling household little Gwyndeth went home to every evening. She tempered her love as well, however – for she could tell that it, too, would make Daeghun uncomfortable – and so she'd been hiding such things for as long as she could remember.

A small part of her mind found her situation almost amusing; she remembered Amie's nights of self-torture over whether Bevil loved her when, in Gwyn's eyes, it was completely obvious that he did. Her friend had always been fond of drama, and she had lived in a way that suggested that sometimes she thought herself a heroine in one of the many romance novels she loved to read. Gwyn, however, was the opposite. Quiet and subdued, there would be no fevered weeping, no nights of agony. She knew Sand did not love her, and she accepted that fact. The pain that knowledge caused her might be considerable, but there was no reason to broadcast it to the world. _Which is lucky, because there are no secrets in this camp, and I can only imagine the mess Grobnar would make of it trying to tell Sand. He's well-meaning, but whoever made him left common sense _completely _out of the mixture._

The others rose soon after dawn – even Neeshka, who had a soft spot for Grobnar's sausage and egg breakfasts – and they were on the road before the sun was far above the horizon. Between Casavir's healing, Grobnar's cooking, and his own sense of determination, Issani was already in much better shape and was able to keep up with them surprisingly well for someone who looked like an inveterate scholar.

The day was ordinary and when the sun set they were still a few hours from Old Owl Well; after a consultation with Issani and Casavir, Gwyn decided to push on. "After all, there shouldn't be many, if any, orc patrols left, and they've got _tents_ at the Greycloak camp." The mention of tents brought a wry smile to her face; she remembered what Sand had said when she'd asked him to accompany them. _It's good he didn't come. He would have hated this and I will bet you that between Grobnar's incessancy and Sand's complaining we wouldn't have had a minute's silence. He's _such_ a cat. _Ayree switched Gwyn across the ankles with her tail, and her mistress laughed, then sighed. _I still wish he was here._

* * *

><p>It was a little before midnight when they finally walked – or staggered, as it <em>had<em> been a long day – into the Greycloak camp. By the time a guard had been dispatched to pull Callum out of his tent, more than half of the camp had woken up and the next thing Gwyn knew there were two shouts of '_Casavir!_' from two opposite directions.

Callum was nearer and so reached them first, although Katriona was a close second. "You daft idiot!" the dwarf roared, laughing as he clapped the paladin on the back. "I should have known it was you out there – I wish I _had_ known it was you! We probably could have done a lot better if our forces had been able to join up earlier!"

Casavir shook his head. "I had to do it alone, Callum. You know my feelings about Neverwinter."

Callum sighed. "Aye, I do. You know that no matter what the others said, I-" he looked at Gwyn, then at Casavir, and shook his own head. "Nevermind. But is this the emissary? I see you were successful beyond my expectations!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Gwyn saw Katriona come running up to stand just behind the group, biting her lip with an anxious light in her eyes. Their gaze met, and Gwyn gave her a quiet nod, then stepped up to the commander. "Callum, we've done more than that – Logram and Yaisog are _both_ dead." The dwarf spluttered and she motioned towards the briefing tent. "I've got their emblems and banners, so let's sit down and we'll tell you all about it?"

He nodded and turned away and Gwyn took that chance to turn to Casavir, who was blinking at her. "I believe your captain deserves a bit of your time, Cas. She _has_ been waiting patiently for some days now, and deserves to know that you and her people are now safe."

"Oh, of course." The paladin's expression cleared and Gwyn turned again to Katriona, who looked surprised, then returned Gwyn's previous nod, showing a new, wary measure of appreciation. Gwyn did not stay to see how their meeting went; she knew that it was none of her business.

* * *

><p>Callum was so relieved that the orc problem had been taken care of that he ordered one of the camp's few actual stone structures to be prepared for Gwyn and her party to use until they departed. A long discussion was had, with Casavir reappearing halfway through; it was decided that, since the orc threat was assuaged, most of the camp – with a few troops left to help patrol and watch for stragglers – would pack the next day and leave for Neverwinter. Issani agreed to go with the Greycloaks once he'd been assured that he could send an earlier message by courier; Gwyn took him aside after the meeting and asked if he would allow her to also send a letter, to which he readily agreed.<p>

She had planned to send two notes – one to Duncan and one to Sand. She wrote her uncle's first, then started on the second; six torn sheets of parchment later, she reopened the first and added a postscript. _"P.S. If you see Sand, please give him my regards and let him know that we're all well. Tell him I really miss his cooking, and him as well (to some extent)."_ She chuckled. _That should make him laugh. And really, what else can I say?_

Gwyn was just re-sealing the letter when there came a knock at her door. She opened it with 'Grobnar, I'll deal with it in the morning, so go to bed,' on her tongue, but blinked as she saw Katriona standing on the doorstep. Recovering quickly, the mage stepped back. "Please, come in?"

The captain nodded and followed Gwyn inside, looking uncomfortable but matter-of-fact. Gwyn offered a chair, but Katriona refused; she also shook her head at an offered mug of tea. Taking a breath, she got quickly to the point.

"I spoke with Casavir... thank you for giving me that opportunity." Gwyn nodded. "I asked him to stay – he has done so much for us that he will always have a place here, and we could use his help to rebuild. He says, however, that he is promised to you." Her gaze was questioning and close to hostile, but it was apparent that she was trying to temper her resentment.

Gwyn, who'd reseated herself at her desk, put her head in her hand, her elbow resting on the papers, and pinched the bridge of her nose in weariness. "Oh _Mystra_, he is _not_ promised to me. I will have a word with him and-"

Katriona cut her off, shaking her head. "No. I – he has not told me of his past, but I know he has a history with Neverwinter. If you tell him to stay he may, for he seems to be eager to obey your orders – but he would never be happy. I don't _want_ Casavir out of duty." Her face was red at the end of this statement, and the last words came out quickly. She paused for a moment, looking defiantly at Gwyn. "Help him face his past if you care for him at all."

"I don't-" Gwyn flushed. "I _don't_ feel that way for Casavir, but I do consider him a friend. I will talk to him about this – I think he's making a mistake – and I'm sure-"

"I don't want your pity," Katriona said, coldly. Gwyn flushed again and the captain winced. "I'm sorry. But I've loved Casavir since I met him – I'm sure _you've_ noticed, if he hasn't – and I don't want the woman who walked in and captured his gaze to condescend to me."

Gwyn took a deep breath. '_It's not me, it's just what he thinks is me' _is what she _wanted_ to say, but she knew that right now it would sound demeaning. Instead, she merely apologized. "I understand, and I _am_ sorry, Katriona. That isn't how I meant it. All I can say is that I want him to come to terms as much as you do. Whether you believe it or not – or care – I can tell you that I am in somewhat of the same position as you are."

The captain gave her another long look, then nodded again. "This is, then, ideal for neither of us, but maybe something good will come of it, eventually." Turning, she walked back towards the door. "Thank you for your time, Lieutenant. I hope we can meet another time under better circumstances."

After Katriona left, Gwyn sat back in her chair, sighing at Ayree. Her familiar purred, and Gwyn sighed. "Maybe this side excursion to the Ironfist stronghold will bring some semblance of _sanity _back to this group – Mystra knows _I_ could use it!"

* * *

><p>A week later, they finally left the dwarven valley, leaving behind a camp of dwarves and a large family headache. Gwyn found herself wondering if she'd perhaps been mistaken in her definition of sanity.<p>

They'd found the old stronghold, all right – after finding a group of Khelgar's clan who were none too happy at seeing their errant relation again. They had challenged him, saying not only that he had no right to search, but that he wouldn't have the stones to try; Gwyn's group had not only been able to locate the ruins but had also managed to drive out the resident ogres _and_ claim the Gauntlets of Ironfist, relics belonging to Khelgar's clan from their long-gone years of glory.

They'd finally parted with the dwarves somewhat mollified and Khelgar somewhat thoughtful; it seemed as if perhaps he was a little closer to meeting some of the 'know thyself' tests set upon him by the brothers at the Temple of Tyr.

All Gwyn knew, however, was that she was _tired_, and wanted to go_ home_.

* * *

><p>It took them another fortnight to return to Neverwinter, thanks to more rain; all told it had been two months since they'd originally left and Gwyn never thought she'd be so relieved to see the city, rising in the distance. They made it back to the Flagon just before noon; Duncan was very glad to see them, but Gwyn was less than thrilled to see that Qara was still around. There was also a lanky individual who introduced himself – with a leer – as Bishop; he seemed to be of the wilderness persuasion so she wasn't sure why he was there, but apparently he had business with Duncan. She just shook her head and went off to report to Captain Breilana at Watch Headquarters.<p>

The Captain had been more than pleased at Issani's safe arrival and the report he'd given; while no one was happy that it had taken so long, the fact that the orcs had _also_ been destroyed was a boon in Gwyn's favour and allowed the Captain to turn a blind eye to the fact that she'd returned a week and a half _after_ the emissary. Gwyn was was also given another week's rest, and told that once she reported back they'd see about letting her into Black Lake. She chafed at this delay, but not as hard as perhaps she might once have; she _was_ weary, and glad of a rest – and was hoping to spend a little time with Sand.

On her way back to the inn she had the urge to go by his shop, but she felt oddly shy about it, and decided instead to go home, have a _long_ bath, and take a nap. She and Ayree both slept until supper time; her familiar _was_ anxious to see Jaral, so Gwyn told her they'd go after everyone had eaten.

The Flagon was lively now. They'd started with Gwyn, Khelgar, Neeshka, and Elanee; with Casavir, Grobnar, and Qara added to the party, and Bishop still hanging around –_ gods, don't tell me Duncan owes some stupid debt again. He gets into the _worst_ financial troubles – _the main room was constantly in a dull uproar. After cooking something for those of her fellows that didn't wish to indulge in inn food, Gwyn sat at the fire, eating with Casavir. Bishop, for some reason, decided to join them and this put the paladin on edge – which Gwyn appreciated. _I don't feel safe around that man, and I'm glad of company when he's nearby. He seems altogether like a predator_. _He's spent the entire evening leering at me and making snide remarks. _

Just as she'd come back from taking the dishes to the kitchen, Ayree perked up and shot across the room. Gwyn felt her pulse quicken ever-so-slightly, but sat back down as if nothing was unusual, and tried to keep her mind on what Casavir was saying. _I'm a fool. There's a very good chance I will see Sand and after two months find that there's nothing there anymore._

Then the door opened and her head shot up; seeing Sand step inside with a puzzled look on his face – more than likely thanks to Grobnar, who was singing at the top of his lungs – she broke out into a smile. He smiled back and she stepped past Casavir to meet him. "Sand! I was going to come by later and see you, once I was able to get everything settled."

* * *

><p>After puzzling over the odd song - <em>really? Whitethistle? -<em> Sand finally pushed the door open and was gratified when Gwyn turned to look and immediately smiled upon seeing him. Pointedly ignoring the daggers he could _feel_ Qara glaring towards him, he picked his way through the tables, dodging both the gnome – who seemed to be performing a complicated dance on one foot in the middle of the floor – and also Jaral, who was off like a shot to find Ayree.

Gwyn stood, taking his hands and looking very much like she'd like to hug him – which he didn't think he'd have minded - with an expression that plainly begged _save me_. "Sand! I was going to come by later and see you, once I was able to get everything settled."

The paladin stepped forward. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but it's late and you shouldn't be outside at night in this weather."

She sighed. "Thank you, Cas, but I'll be fine, really. And I thought we'd already settled the 'my lady' thing. Relax – we don't have to worry about orcs now, so you don't have to be so nervous."

The paladin bowed. "Of course, mi- er, Gwyndeth." He then bowed again, this time to Sand.

Gwyn opened her mouth – to introduce them, Sand assumed – but was interrupted as Bishop swaggered up; Sand couldn't describe the man's movements in any other way. "She's not _your_ lady _anyhow, paladin_."

Again gratified, this time to see the immediate wariness jump into Gwyn's eyes as Bishop spoke, Sand rolled his eyes. Gwyn tried again to introduce the two, but the paladin had turned to glare at Bishop, who was saying something else in a taunting voice. Gwyn – who was already looking peaked after her long trip and as if she'd lost some weight – winced and sighed.

Sand rarely gave into impulse, but at Gwyn's sigh, he looked around the room, sent a ~_poke_~ at Jaral, then bowed to Gwyn. "I'm glad you're back; I have an experiment I need help with, and it's rather urgent." She blinked at him, and started to speak, but before she could say anything he took her wrist and led her rapidly towards the door. His common sense was enraged. _Are you mad, Sand? What in Faerun are you doing? _He ignored it.

He stopped when they were outside – away from the blinks and stares of the others in the room – and started to laugh. Gwyn looked at him for a moment, then joined him. "What was that?"

Shaking his head, Sand just glared at her. "Two months and no word? We thought you'd died!"

"It's not like there were postboxes every five feet! Besides, we were up to our elbows in orcs. And I _did_ send a postscript! I was finally able to send Duncan a letter after we found the emissary, and I let my uncle know we'd be a bit later – we went looking for dwarven ruins – and I _told _him to tell you that we were fine and that I missed your cooking."

Sand found himself flushing ever so slightly at this, but he just glared. "Duncan – that drunken reprobate! He didn't say anything, and I've been by weekly to bring him his purgative." He shrugged. "Oh well, no matter. What _that _was, was that you looked as if you were tired and needed a break – and to be honest, you needed to be away from Bishop. Your paladin friend can handle him."

Her face sobered. "It's not just me, then? Bishop seems very suspicious, in my opinion."

"He's a villain who has absolutely no morals and fewer scruples. Let him devour Qara and _you_ stay away from him, if you'll take my advice, which you should."

She nodded, and they began to walk back to his shop; an awkward silence threatened but she forestalled it by turning to him and asking, "So, how have _you_ been? I know Jaral's fine, Ayree babbled for a bit and then dropped off the radar. I'm sure they're following, but I don't particularly feel like checking."

Sand chuckled dryly. "Indeed, I feel much the same. But if they wish to be fools, let them. And I've been fine, though I _will _admit that it _has_ been a bit dull around here."

Gwyn grinned. "As I get the feeling that's the _only_ way in which I'll ever hear you say, 'I missed you', I'll take it. And as I _told_ Duncan to tell you, I missed you too. You should have come along! We had so much rain I don't think I'll ever feel dehydrated again."

She expected a snort and a '_No thank you_,' but Sand just shook his head. "Hopefully, you won't have to go on that sort of a journey again. And I assume they'll be letting you into Black Lake soon?"

"Mmm, I've been given a week off, and then when I report back they'll have some business for me there."

He grinned. "A week off? Excellent, because my alchemical experiments are sorely lacking for want of a second opinion."

Once they got to his shop, Sand made tea and Gwyn sat back, truly relaxing for the first time in months. She watched him as he bustled around, and realized that no, two months had changed absolutely _nothing_ in her feelings. _But to be honest, I'm happy right now. I don't know what's going on with these shards, and I don't know what my immediate future entails. Anything more would be stress; right now things are_ just_ about perfect. Now, if I could go back tonight and find that Khelgar and Neeshka have stopped bickering, Qara has left, and Duncan has somehow sobered up, I do believe life_ would_ be perfect._

Did she believe herself? Not completely, but at least it sounded good.

* * *

><p>Sand handed Gwyn her tea and was happy to see her settle back and loosen up, as if a weight were finally off her shoulders. He started with small talk, and she was soon telling him about the journey. He found himself speechless – possibly for the first time in at least fifty years – at her depiction of the first conversation she had with Grobnar.<p>

Her conversation frequently dwelt on the paladin, whose name was Casavir, and he found himself feeling a little impatient as it drew on. _Damn paladin thinks he's found a new cause, and someone to protect. Gwyn can protect herself._

His ego jeered. _Jealous?_

He snorted, mentally. _As if. Considering how much injustice really _is_ happening out there – as close as in the streets of this very city – he could certainly find something else to devote himself to and stop wasting our time. _Pushing the thoughts back, he focused again on Gwyn, who was describing the shadow priest they'd dealt with, and his attention sharpened. "Wait, worshipping the King of Shadows, you said? And you've run into them before? _Mystra_, why didn't you mention them?"

She grimaced at him. "I'd forgotten, all right? After all, with little githlings ambushing me from around every corner, it's not like I can remember _every_ enemy I've fought! I _did, _however, sit down that night and write out everything I could remember about them." She brought out her spellbook as he nodded approvingly, carefully tore out two or three pages, and handed them to him.

Pulling out his spectacles, he read over the pages briefly, and then tapped his fingers on his lips. "Well, I'll want to do some research, of course. The symbology, their phrasing – I've got a volume somewhere detailing the King of Shadows, the Shadow War, and sundry connected subjects; I've read it once, but I think this may shed a new light on it. I'll start tonight when I go to bed."

Gwyn nodded, slipping her spellbook back into her robes and sitting back to finish her tea. He offered her some wine, but she shook her head. "No, no. Not for a day or two; right now I feel too worn out – rather paper-thin, actually."

_She does look tired. I think I'll make some restorative potions tonight and bring them by. Athelas, juniper, and fireflower are all good for balance and revitalization. I do feel a bit guilty; if I _had _gone, at least there would have been _two _adults taking care of the children. _

_Well, what about Casavir? He seems relatively mature._

_If he's so mature, then she shouldn't be so worn out. All the more reason to bring him to task._

Eventually, her story was finished and he started to tell her about the goings-on in the Docks, what little there had been, now that Moire was gone. He'd had to deal with Torio once, but it had actually been rather amusing – she'd managed to say something spectacularly ridiculous in front of Nasher and Sand told it in such a way that Gwyn was laughing helplessly before too long.

"Well, you've a week off, at least. Come by, we'll catch up, and see what kind of experiments we can get to. I've had a few thoughts on the use of burdock root instead of horsehair fern when making curatives and I wanted your help in setting that up."

She nodded and was just standing when there came a knock at the door. Sand went to open it and found, to his extreme annoyance, Casavir standing on his doorstep. "Pardon me, but is Gwyndeth here?"

Gwyn walked up at that point. "Cas? What are you _doing_ here?"

Casavir looked a bit grim. "It's late, and we were worried. After what happened with that false emissary, I swore I'd watch out for you, you know."

Sand blinked. "What happened with the false emissary? Gwyn said you just found him out as he was trying to steal your supplies."

The paladin blinked, looked at Gwyn in confusion – Sand turned his head just in time to catch her waving her hands in a '_No no no really no_' gesture – and then shook his head. "Did she not tell you? He tried to take her hostage, nearly slitting her throat, and-"

"AND you were there to help get me out of it, he's dead, and I'm fine. That's enough of that and _really, Cas, I'm fine and you can go home now._"

Meanwhile, at the words 'hostage' and 'slitting her throat' Sand felt the blood drain from his face – indeed, from his whole body, it seemed – and he turned around to see that Gwyn was looking at him with an embarrassed wince that said 'I really didn't want to tell you'. He said nothing – could not think of what _to_ say that wouldn't come out _completely _wrong, especially in front of a bystander – and she reached for her cloak, looking chagrined.

"I'll, uh- it's late, and I should _really_ get back. It's been a long day and all that. I'll, uh- see you tomorrow?"

Sand nodded, bowing but not trusting his voice, and Casavir looked between the two of them, his confusion even greater. Gwyn picked up Ayree, who had reluctantly come downstairs, and after a troubled look at Sand, she and Casavir left.

After the door was closed, Sand finally let out the breath he'd been holding. _Sweet Mystra, I should have been there. Leave it to some muscle-bound paladin to save her, after all – no, that's unfair, and if he hadn't been there..._ he shuddered. _I have to get the details, but don't tell me – she doesn't know silent casting? What was that fool of a false 'mentor' thinking, not to teach her that as soon as possible?_

Forcing himself to calm down – _after all, she's safe, and I've no reason to be upset, no reason at all_ – he poured himself a glass of wine and after digging through his library, found the tome on the King of Shadows that he'd mentioned to her. He'd read it once, when she first told him the origin of the shards, but it had shed no light; still, he was determined to get through it again. Pulling out the notes she'd given him earlier, he reviewed them; however, turning the last page over he saw something scribbled in the bottom margins, then crossed out, and he blinked.

"Eyes so pale beneath the moonlight; will they ever look at me?"_ What on- did _Gwyn_ write this?_ He turned the page to compare the handwriting and lo, it was definitely hers – she trailed her 'y' and 'g' characters in an unmistakable fashion. _Is this – don't tell me she's actually _fallen_ for that muscle-bound paladin!_

Turning the pages quickly over, he went back to the book, trying to focus on the actual information in her notes. He was far less attentive than usual, however, and found his mind continually drifting. Finally, about a third of the way through, he shut the book, blew out the candles, and curled up to go to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>As always, the characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree, who belong to me.<em>


	10. A Paladin's Past

_Again, sorry for the delays! Unfortunately, real life exists, and it can be a bitch. I'm very busy now, but I promise I will update this whenever I can. Thank you so much to everyone for the positive words!_

* * *

><p><em>Ch. 10 - A Paladin's Past, in which our heroine gets a mentor, our hero gets snippy, and Casavir reveals his past.<em>

"If you don't _put_ that gittern _down_ I will silence it myself!" Sand glared at Grobnar, teeth gritted, as the gnome wandered in circles in the main room of the Flagon. He was, as usual, singing some nonsense song as he made it up; once Sand snapped at him, however, he stammered out an apology and quickly departed through the back door.

Sighing, Sand sat down at one of the tables. He felt rather guilty – the gnome was a lunatic, from all that Gwyn had said, but he wasn't a bad sort. Still, the wizard was in far from the best of moods – his sleep had been broken and full of ill dreams, and he was very out of sorts this morning. Eventually, he'd risen with one thing in his mind, and that was the reason he was at the inn so early – Gwyn's magical studies had to be resumed and he was the only one in their circle who could undertake such a thing.

He felt even worse when the gnome walked back in several minutes later with a tray and several mugs of coffee, one of which he set in front of Sand with a bow and another apology. Just then, Gwyn appeared in the doorway leading to the guest rooms – still in the process of pinning up her hair – looking surprised.

"Sand? What in the gods' names are you doing here so early?" She took a mug from Grobnar with a thank you and a smile, and Sand took that opportunity to bite back his automatically irritated response.

_This is why I try not to spend time with anyone before midmorning. Especially after a night like last night._

Taking a deep breath, he nodded at her as Gwyn stood with a raised eyebrow, sipping her coffee. "You've a week off from patrolling, so we'll start today. If you're diligent enough, you should be able to silent cast by the end of the week."

She gaped at him. "Wait, _what_?"

Sand waved at her, looking a bit irritated. "Magic. Training. You've been away from your mentor for what, six months now? A year?" He raised an eyebrow and she nodded, still looking more than a little surprised. "And who else is going to teach you, _Qara_?"

Her mouth twitched a bit at this. "I'd rather take up sword fighting."

The corner of his mouth twitched in response, and he stood up. "Good girl – although that might _not_ be a bad idea. Not that you'd need to handle a longsword – and I assume you already know how to use your dagger. But unless you've got Neeshka's dexterousness-"

Gwyn laughed. "You _know_ better."

Sand gave a smirk. "Indeed, I do. Which means that a dagger really won't do much for you in close combat; it's really only going to be useful in the most dire of situations." He thought again about what Casavir had told him the night before concerning the false emissary, and his skin crawled. He cleared his throat. "But you should be able to handle a shortsword, and while you can't devote the time – or strength – to seriously learning swordplay, it is _always_ good to have a backup plan."

She tilted her head, looking at him curiously. "What do you use? I've never seen you with a weapon before."

He snorted. "My dear, I am rarely ever _in_ combat. But I would not give advice I have not followed myself, and I can say that I have grown rather adept at the use of a quarterstaff in the past two centuries." He paused. "You could learn the same, of course, but I think that with your stature and build, a sword would have more utility. Now I'll just need to find someone to train you, because _I_ certainly don't know the finer points of swordplay, and I'm _not_ going to ask that oaf, Khelgar-" He tapped his fingers on the table, starting to sort through the people he knew and actually _respected_ in Neverwinter, but before he could get far a voice spoke up from the front door.

"I can teach her the use of a sword, and I most gladly will."

Both Sand and Gwyn looked up and saw Casavir standing in the doorway; he was not dressed in his usual heavy armour but instead was just wearing a simple linen tunic and leather breeches and boots, with a plain vest embroidered with the symbol of Tyr. He had his sword at his hip and looked as if he'd just come in from his own training. He and Sand gazed at each other, and Sand felt the oddest sensation – _almost as if for some reason this is a battle over territory. But he really is the best option. They won't be able to spare the time with the Watch, and who else would I ask? Bishop? Not in this lifetime. _

Slowly and reluctantly, Sand nodded. "I would be obliged, then, if you would train her. I'll leave it to the two of you to work out the best scheduling; I myself will want to utilize most of this week to get her magical training settled, as that is her primary set of skills, and after that, I claim her evenings. She won't need anything fancy, but the more likely it is that she would be able to take a blade and gut her assailants, should the need arise, the better off she'll be, and the better I will sleep."

The paladin looked at him for a long time – _why do I feel as if he's weighing me?_ – then nodded. "Of course, if she will allow me, I will certainly do so."

Gwyn blinked, and nodded. "Oh, of course. Thank you, Cas. We can talk about it when I come back, I suppose, as it seems that Sand wants to leave immediately." She looked back towards the kitchen, from whence the scent of bacon and eggs was just emerging. "Grobnar's an awfully good cook. Won't you stay for breakfast?"

Sand felt a bit disgruntled. _So much for 'she missed my cooking'_. "We haven't time; if you're hungry I'll prepare something at home." He turned to Casavir and gave a bow. "If you'll excuse us?"

* * *

><p>"You're <em>still<em> whispering. Try it again!" Gwyn glared at Sand, then sighed, squared her shoulders, and focused on the signal words to summon her arcane shield. The swirling energies had just materialized when the wizard snapped, "Stop! You did it _again_!"

Sinking back into her chair, Gwyn rubbed her forehead. "Far be it from the pupil to challenge the master, but we've been working on this for _six hours_, Sand! The only break we've taken was for lunch, and that was barely a half-hour! If I am slipping, perhaps it's because I'm feeling a _bit_ drained?"

"It's not _my_ fault that you were left with only the most rudimentary of arcane training! We've got barely a week to get you up to standard before those idiots with the Watch start sending you back out to Mystra-only-knows-where. Now, try it again, and-"

"_No_, Sand." She leaned forward to give him a challenging look, but she knew the effect was somewhat lessened by her dark glasses and she gave a heavy sigh. "Look, I don't know _what_ crawled into your beakers and died, but it's _not my fault_! You've been acting absolutely _wretched_ ever since Cas came by last night, and I want to know why."

Sand winced at her tone of voice. _She's right, you know. You _have _been an ass today. Does she really deserve that?_ Sitting down, he sighed. "I… apologize. I may have, perhaps, been taking my ill mood out upon you to some small extent, and that is unfair of me. But I've known the level of your training since we first met, and I should have thought to test you – at least somewhat – before you went out on such an unsafe mission. If you'd known this skill out in the mountains, you wouldn't have been in so much danger that Casavir had to rescue you."

Gwyn raised an eyebrow. "Not that I'm arguing – I certainly would have liked to have been able to strike him down immediately and not have _needed _anyone to rescue me – but that's sort of his job, Sand. He's a paladin. They help people. Besides, it wasn't quite as cut-and-dry as Casavir made it seem."

_She's right, again. You still haven't actually found out what _happened_. Stop snapping at her for ten minutes, make tea, _relax_, and let her tell her story._ He sighed. _Really, whose side am I on today?_ Still, it was sound advice, so he stood up, turning towards the fire. "I will concede your point, so sit, rest, and tell me what _did _happen while I make tea. Perhaps then I can better identify what we should be working on."

It was a good thing his back _was_ to her as she told her tale, because it was, if anything, worse than Casavir had originally made it seem. Having better weapon skills would not have aided her; he pressed his lips together in a scowl and determined then that by the end of the week she _would_ be able to silent cast, and do it at a moment's notice. _But not tonight. I need to be in a better frame of mine – as it is I'm getting frustrated, _she's_ getting frustrated, and we'll be at each other's throats in no time. I may enjoy crossing wits with her, but in a legitimate setting, not squabbling like Khelgar and Neeshka._

Finally, he turned back to her with the mugs of tea; she took hers gratefully, sighing wearily, and he winced. "Well, we'll just work on your casting and spells; we certainly shan't quit at the end of the week, so give it a bit, and you'll be where you should be. You're certainly smart enough, and I've seen you cast, so I know you have the talent."

She looked grateful at the compliment, but a little apprehensive. "Sand – no more tonight, please-"

He raised a hand. "No, no more tonight. I _am_ in a bad mood, and if we keep on tonight _you_ will exhaust yourself, and my mood will only get more foul."

A frown crossed her face as she nodded. "I'm... sorry you're in such a bad mood. I will go, then, so that you can relax?" Her glance was questioning as she finished her tea and stood up.

He shook his head. "No, no. Stay. Intelligent conversation is actually likely to improve my mood, provided you're not going to tell me next that you faced a dragon or some such and just happened to 'leave it out' previously."

Gwyn flushed, looking embarrassed. "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to mock me, because I _know_ my skills are lacking, and I _know_ I almost died because I didn't know what I was doing."

Sand frowned, torn between feeling hurt and acknowledging that, yes, it _was _in character for him. He shook his head. "I may mock many things, but I hope I am not so shallow as to make light of a friend's life being in danger."

At these words, an odd expression flickered across her face, and she merely nodded, although she looked a bit sceptical. "Well, you know now, and I _do_ appreciate that you're helping me. I just don't think I'm going to make a breakthrough in one night."

"I know, and it's unfair to expect that. You _were_ doing well, and will probably do better after a night's rest. And dinner, for I seem to recall someone saying that they missed my cooking?"

A smile broke out across her face, although her cheeks were still a little pink. "Well, I certainly need to keep my energy up, and I will say – Grobnar's breakfasts are spectacular, but he's got nothing on your steak and kidney pies."

* * *

><p>The two ate and talked and laughed, and for the first time since she'd returned it seemed to both of them that things were back to normal. Sand brought out another of his "good" bottles of wine, and they shared some of it, as well – although he made <em>very<em> certain to not drink more than two glasses. His inattention to his studies last night had been an aberration, and he wanted to be sure that nothing inadvertently slipped from his mouth tonight that might give her the wrong idea. _I very certainly am _not_ jealous of Casavir, but I can acknowledge that, to someone unfamiliar with my ways, I might seem so. Really, it's just concern for the dear girl's safety_.

They started a conversation about some of the things Sand had been set to 'discover' for Nasher and Nevalle – _perhaps not something either of them would like me to bring up, but _I_ know I can trust her, and I'm tired of being a good little lackey_. They were still discussing some of the lesser known 'secrets' around Neverwinter on the walk back to the Flagon, and he found himself telling her that the Moonstone Mask – a merchant-district club for 'higher-scale ladies of less than sterling repute' was actually a haven for revolutionaries and plot-spinners, and that Ophala, the 'house matron,' was also a spy for the crown who spent her time separating the noble-born fools who thought they were 'free-thinkers' from those who truly threatened Neverwinter.

No sooner had they stepped inside than Casavir – who seemed to have been sitting at the window to watch for Gwyn – rose from his seat to walk towards them, a relieved look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak when Sand was struck with the remembrance of from just _where_ he recognized the paladin. Without even meaning to, he blurted out, "That's right! Ophala! You were the one who-"

At the woman's name Casavir turned white, then red, then spoke up with a _very_ uncharacteristically sharp, "_Past_ is past and there's certainly no reason to bring it up. Now that I've seen that Mistress Gwyndeth is safe, I will be retiring for the night, if you'll both excuse me." He turned quickly, walking off, leaving Gwyn with a look of absolute confusion on her face as Sand smirked, although he felt a little guilty. After all, he hadn't _meant_ to say it, but he'd been trying to place Casavir's face since they'd met the day before.

Gwyn looked at the wizard in more confusion, and he was about to elaborate when a thought struck him. _If it were me, would I want someone spreading _my_ secrets around? Gwyn knows them now, but I certainly didn't want her to know, did I?_ He then shook his head, carefully, and although she prefaced it with a look of speculative disbelief, she gave him a shrug. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Sand nodded. "Bright and early, I'll make breakfast, bring eggs."

She nodded, and with a small wave went into the back rooms. He turned to leave just in time to see Casavir come back into the room. He approached the wizard, who looked surprised, and gestured to the door. "If you're going home, may I walk with you?"

_Mmm, is the paladin going to try to rationalize things, I wonder?_ He merely nodded, however, saying nothing aloud. _I have no idea what he wants to say – even if I can guess the topic – so I'll let him start._

They walked the first block in uncomfortable silence, and it was obvious that Casavir was organizing his thoughts. Finally, as the sounds from the Flagon finally faded away – _ohhh, Grobnar_ – he cleared his throat.

"I had wondered, upon coming back to the city, if someone... well, how much do you know?"

Sand raised an eyebrow, his tone wry. "Considering that one of my specialities is information, I dare say I know most of it, if not the whole thing." He paused, looking up at the not-so-full moon, and shrugged. "Public consensus is that the event itself was a regrettable, if necessary, accident. Your leaving Neverwinter, however, is what people are going to – and have – taken offence to. If you _are_ declared to be a Betrayer, that would be why." He looked over at the paladin, who flinched at those words. "But I know some people – vaguely, you understand – that are already keeping an eye on Gwyn's situation, and-"

Casavir turned sharply. "If you're thinking of turning on her-"

Sand cut him off, sounding – and feeling – very annoyed. "While I _appreciate _that you've got the dear girl's best interests at heart, I really wish everyone would _stop_ assuming the worst about me! I am _trying_ to keep her _safe_, thank you very much. If it hasn't occurred to you, having gith magnets – like those shards – wandering around is _not_ something calculated to make those in power very happy. It took quite a bit of persuading to get them to even let her stay." He huffed, as Casavir took this in with a bemused blink.

"I beg your pardon-"

Sand waved it off. "No matter. But as I was saying, I can speak with someone to make sure that no one decides to bring you in on charges of betrayal."

The paladin blinked again, looking affronted. "I beg your _pardon_-"

"-you said that already," Sand murmured. Casavir did not hear him, which was probably a good thing as Sand was not sure of what sense of humour the paladin actually _had_.

"– but if my punishment is to be tried as a Betrayer, then I will face it."

By now, Sand was _thoroughly_ annoyed. "And precisely _what _good would that do? How exactly do you plan to protect Gwyn if you're hanging from a noose? If you'd actually _committed_ a crime, then I'd be the first to turn you in. But there are times in which you have to be willing to bend in order to do the _right_ thing. You don't seem stupid, so I hope you recognize my point."

They'd reached Sand's shop by then, and Casavir had the grace to purse his lips and nod. "A... point, I grant." He paused. "Will you not tell Gwyndeth? If from anyone, she should hear it from me."

Sand waved a hand. "I am not a gossip, nor do I find gossip intriguing. But you probably _should_ tell her, especially as you seem to be rather fond of her."

The paladin flushed at this, but merely bowed, with a quiet, "Thank you." He turned to go, and Sand shut the door behind him. _Why am I helping him, again? He's gloomy, and he takes up too much of Gwyn's time with trivialities._

_Because you're not as much of a viper as Duncan suggests?_

_Well, of course I'm not._

_Also, if a knife-wielding maniac comes after Gwyn, you'd rather have someone in full-plate there to intercept it?_

_All right, that's a point I can accept._ He closed the door, sighing. _Mystra, it's been a long day_.

* * *

><p>Gwyn had finished her bath and was combing her hair when she heard a hesitant knock at her door. Cinching her sash – wondering just who it would be at that hour and hoping it wasn't Grobnar – she opened it, blinking when she saw Casavir. He was still in his casual clothing, and he wore a look of resigned thoughtfulness on his face.<p>

When he saw that she was in her dressing gown, he flushed. "My apologies, milady. I will come back at a more reasonable hour." He turned away, but she sighed and touched his shoulder. _It's not like my normal robes aren't actually more revealing than these_.

"Cas, be sensible. It's _not_ too late, and I'm _not_ in bed yet, so really, it's fine. Come in, sit down." He nodded, slowly, and followed her into her room.

Gwyn bustled around, filling the kettle and putting it to heat. She said nothing more until the tea was ready, and that gave the paladin time to settle down and rid himself of his embarrassment. Once she was seated as well, he took the proffered cup and gave a sigh, turning to look at the fire.

"What... Sand said earlier... was true, as much as it pains me to admit it. There was a time in which I was... fond... of the Lady Ophala, and we were close. I thought she felt the same; perhaps she did, but my reluctance – for I could not easily balance my duties to Neverwinter with the desires of my heart – left room for others to encroach... I assume Sand told you of her – many professions?" Casavir looked up, and Gwyn nodded.

He sighed, looking away again, and after a long drink of tea, continued. "Her 'profession' did not bother me much, for I knew what secrets lay behind it. But she took a lover – whether she was truly smitten, or whether she needed to get close to him for information, I do not know – and for everything I knew, it was over between her and I." Pausing, he put his forehead in his hand, and Gwyn just sat, listening. It was a surprising story, but she had assumed there _must_ have been something of the sort in his past, or he would not have been so stiff with Katriona, and even herself. Finally, he continued.

"A time later – indeed, time enough for me to have re-evaluated my oath to Neverwinter, and find it wanting for all of the reasons I mentioned before – I received a note from her, asking me to come see her with the utmost haste. Of course, I went. To this day, I do not know why she summoned me – whether to formally end our relationship, to ask for help, or something wholly different. What I do know is that her paramour was a vicious, vile brute. When I arrived, he was there, and when he saw me, he began to... torment... the lady, to the point that I physically removed him from her presence and demanded a duel. He conceded – likely because, as is the way with such blaggards, he overestimated his skill – and we met the next day."

He paused, his voice sounding strained. "It is the nature of such things to end at first blood – I did _not_ call an end at the first wound I inflicted, and only stopped when he lay, begging for mercy. Unfortunately he had waited too long, and I learned the next day that he had died during the night from his injuries."

Casavir's voice, by this time, was flat, and he shook his head. "I was wracked by so many ghouls – demons of my own guilt and ill choices – that I could not bear it. I should never have let my feelings for the lady affect my judgement. I gave into jealousy, and rage. Putting my own heart forward lead me to that pass, and the more I thought about it, the more lost in despair I became. I fled the city, determined to find a place where I could do _real_ good – honest work – not the false goodwill that Neverwinter engenders. I sought somewhere with no emotional entanglements, and finally I found Old Owl Well. You know the rest."

He lapsed into silence, and Gwyn could only sit there, blinking. Eventually, he turned to her. "If you no longer wish my service after this, I will understand."

This helped her find her tongue and she _looked_ at him. "Do you _really_ think I would ask that? Your past is past, Cas. I'm not so convinced of your 'guilt' as you seem to be, but that is your own truth to find, and I cannot do it for you. You are a friend – I want your aid and companionship, _not_ your service – and while I appreciate your telling me this, it does not affect our friendship in any way."

Casavir blinked at her, a flush on his cheeks, and she mentally cursed. _If I'm not careful, I'll just keep encouraging his attentions to _me_, but dammit, it needed to be said. Of course, this explains why he hasn't even looked at Katriona_.

Standing, he gave her a very deep bow. "You are very wise, and very kind. I thank you for easing my heart – and my conscience at hiding this from you – and I will leave you now to your rest."

He left after another grateful glance, and she sat back with a long sigh. _Oh Mystra, how do I deal with this? And who would have expected _Cas_ to have a past like that? Add it to Sand's Host Tower lover – especially now that she's back to haunt him – and I don't think I'd be surprised to find that Neeshka used have a yuan-ti paramour or something. _Ayree prrp'd, jumping up into her lap.

_Makes me wonder if I shouldn't come up with some sort of past for myself – a drow lover, perhaps, or a dryad – to keep apace. _Her familiar gave a sigh that didn't even need to be translated, and Gwyn grinned, ruefully.

_Aye, true enough. It would only come back to haunt me when Grobnar started asking questions about logistics_.

* * *

><p><em>As always, all characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree, who belong to me<em>.


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